


Tempora Fugi

by Odd_ysseus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Author has other things he should be doing, Author is not great at regular updating, Blood Adoption, F/M, Harry goes back in time and saves Tom from himself, Helpful Albus Dumbledore, I'm so original, M/M, Occlumency, Or maybe I'll turn Harry and Hermione into Death Eaters, POV Alternating, Plus pretentious Latin title, Siblings Harry and Hermione, Slow Burn, This will probably be pretty long, Ties in with the blood adoption tag, Time Travel, if you couldn't tell, or at tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-17 08:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11847423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odd_ysseus/pseuds/Odd_ysseus
Summary: An accident in the Time Chamber in the Department of Mysteries sends Harry and Hermione 54 years into the past.Everything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling[ON HIATUS]





	1. Harry Would Like You to Know That Time Travel Hurts Like a Motherfucker

**Author's Note:**

> Like the tags mentioned, the author (me) is not great at regular updating due to irregular inspiration. Expect periods of frequent updates followed by periods of radio silence (although I will answer comments that are direct questions). You have been warned. That said the author appreciates you and your patience. Okay ramble over.

            Every part of him ached.

            Harry Potter felt like he had been trampled by a graphorn.  His head ached, his back ached, his _skin_ ached.  Something – many somethings – stabbed against his back, sharp.  Gravel?  Broken wood, perhaps?  He was a bit fuzzy on the details.  Had no idea where he even was.  His head hurt too hard to remember anything besides a crushing sensation.  Could he even move?  It certainly didn’t feel like it.  Harry could not even bring up the desire to even twitch a finger.  Not to open his eyes.  Even his _eyelids_ ached.

            A low, feminine groan crept into his awareness.  Was there somebody there with him?  Whoever they were, they were clearly in pain.  As much as Harry?  That was debatable.

            Harry opened his eyes.

            He saw leaves.  Light shined between the foliage from the sun above.  With his sight rediscovered, Harry began to feel awareness creep into the rest of his body.  He twitched his fingers and curled his toes, feeling a twinge of relief when he was still able to feel both.  He wasn’t paralyzed, which was a relief.

            Then, like a dam breaking, it all came rushing back.  The Department of Mysteries, the Time Chamber.  Harry tackling Hermione out of the path of Dolohov’s curse.  Them slamming onto something, then the spinning, crushing, squeezing… Sirius… Sirius…

            _Sirius!  Sirius!  Sirius!  Sirius…Sirius…_

Wasn’t even there.

            Harry was still in too much pain to move in any sort of timely fashion, but that certainly did not stop him from trying.  He pressed his hands into the ground, felt the sharp gravel – definitely gravel – digging into his palms.  Through grueling effort, he managed to sit up partway.  He tried to regain his bearings.  He was in a forest, in what appeared to be a dry streambed.   Judging by the light, it was probably mid-afternoon…

            There was another groan, behind him.

            Harry jerked his head around, which was a big mistake.  Pain lanced through his head so bad that his vision blurred.  Harry tried taking deep breaths, but otherwise stayed completely still, waiting for the pain to pass.  Through the pain, he was able to make out the shape of someone else sprawled motionless on the ground.  As his vision started to clear, he was able to make out a bushy head of hair.

            Hermione.

            With great effort, Harry began to haul himself across the ground toward his friend until he was able to look down on her face.  Hermione had always been a little pale – too many hours spent forgoing the sun for the library – but now she was positively ashen.  Harry imagined he couldn’t look much better, but that did not stop him from fearing her.

            “Hermione?” Harry croaked. “Hermione?” he repeated, voice stronger.

            To Harry’s relief, her eyes cracked open.

            “Harry?” Hermione’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “Harry, where are we?  What happened?”

            “I don’t know.  We were in the Department of Mysteries.  Death Eaters chased us and Neville into the Time Chamber.  One of them – Dolohov – threw some sort of purple curse at you.  I knocked you out of the way, and we fell onto something…” Harry looked around them again, “I guess it must have been some type of portkey?  I don’t think we’re in the Ministry anymore.”

            Hermione began to sit up.  Harry was still not steady enough to be any help to her, so he just sat back to be out of her way.  It took a few tries but, with her face scrunched up in effort, she managed an upright position.

            “Oh, no…” she gasped.

            “We need to get out of here, Hermione,” Harry said. “Everyone is still at the Ministry.”

            Hermione’s eyes widened. “You’re right, we need to get out of here,” she said.  She did a quick scan of the ground around her, and then her eyes suddenly became panicked.  She began pawing robes “Harry, do you have your wand?”

            Harry’s heart fell into his stomach.  He’d been holding it in the Department of Mysteries.  He looked at the ground around where he’d lain only minutes before.  When he was unable to spot it, he began searching his own robes in a state of panic.

            “We must have dropped them at the Ministry,” said Hermione.

            Harry felt cold. “What do we do now?” he asked.

            Hermione bit her lip and stared around.  Suddenly her eyes locked on something in the distance.

            “There,” she said, pointing.

            Harry followed the line of finger and noticed, in the distance over horizon.  A whisp of smoke was rising some distance away.  Harry looked at Hermione and raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

            “There’s probably a village over there.  If there’s a wizarding household, maybe we can convince them to let us use the Floo,” she elaborated.

            Harry personally had his doubts about this idea.  They would have to be very lucky to find any magical homes in some random village.  Then again, it was not like Harry could think of a better idea.  He gave Hermione a nod.

            They both struggled to their feet and climbed out of the streambed.  It was all too slow for Harry.  Their friends could be dying while they’re stumbling through the woods.  The one comfort Harry had was that Sirius had not actually been held hostage.  But that also brought a surge of guilt to Harry.  It’d all been a trick.  He had allowed Voldemort to lure him into a trap and bring all of his friends into danger with him.

            Harry stewed in his thoughts and panic as they stumbled through the woods.  The pace was horribly slow going, but the more they moved, the more the ache in their bodies slipped away.  Within an hour they were going at a respectable pace.  It was still too slow for Harry.  He wanted to tear through the woods, run as fast as he can.  He had to go help his friends…

            “Slow down, Harry!”

            “They’re in danger, Hermione!  Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna – they’re all alone with the Death Eaters!”

            “You think I don’t know that?” Hermione snapped back. “You think I’m not worried sick?  However, we’re not going to be any use if we’re both exhausted.”

            Harry’s mind rebelled against her logic, but he had to admit it was undeniably, unbearably true.

            “On that note, we should Floo to Hogwarts,” Hermione said shakily. “By the time we find a fireplace, the skirmish will likely be over one way or another, so there’ll be no point in Flooing to the Ministry.”

            Harry couldn’t bring himself to answer.  Her logic was foolproof, and that fact made his throat squeeze tight.  He’d brought all of his friends into a battle that none of them were prepared for, and now he’d left them all alone.

            There was no talking the rest of the time.  The only sounds were of the woods around them, their footsteps and their labored breathing.  The sun raced them toward civilization, eventually surpassing them and going onward into the horizon.  Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and brushed aside the strands of his hair that were stuck to his forehead.

            “Harry!”

            Hermione was staring at Harry with eyes as wide as a house-elf’s, her hands clapped over her mouth.  Her face, which had been flushed from their walk, was paling rapidly.

            “What, Hermione?”

            “You-you’re scar!  It’s gone!” she pointed at his forehead.

            Harry’s hand flew to his forehead.  Not that it would do any good; his scar wasn’t tactilely different from the rest of his skin.  They needed to find Dumbledore.

            “We need to find Dumbledore,” Harry said.

            Hermione, still shaken, nodded.  They continued, if not with more urgency than before, then definitely more unsettled.

            They reach the edge of the village at sunset.  Harry is ready to go barreling into the village, but Hermione’s arm holds him back.

            “Harry, we can’t just go storming through the village,” she said. “We’re dirty, injured and have just come stumbling out of the woods.  If a muggle spots us they will likely inform the police, and we don’t have time for that.”

            “So what do you propose we do?” Harry snapped.

            “We need to find a house with some sign of magic.”

            “And if there aren’t any wizards or witches here?”

            At that, Hermione became silent.  Harry realized that there really was no other plan after that.  He felt his frustration with her vanish.  She was every bit distressed as he was.

            “Let’s go,” Harry said.

            They stumbled through maze of cottages, trying to remain hidden.  It was sunset, so thankfully most people must have been inside.  It was a small village.  Quaint.  Something seemed… off, though.  He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, though.  Before he could think about it anymore, his thoughts were suddenly cut short.

            “Hermione!” Harry hissed.

            A small object about a foot long flew over the hedge of a garden with a scream.  It hit the ground with a thump then, after a moment, slowly stood up and stumbled away into the undergrowth.

            “A gnome!” Hermione said with more joy and relief than said creature should ever warrant.

            They tore for the hedge, circling around until they reached a wooden gate.  They both began knocking frantically, beating their fists against the panes of wood.  After what seemed like forever, the gate swung open, revealing a witch in roughly her mid-thirties dressed in rather old-fashioned muggle clothes.  Her hand was in the pocket of the front of her dress, no doubt grasping a wand.

            “What’s the meaning of – what happened to you two?” Her face morphed from wariness to concern.

            Harry was momentarily at a loss for what to say.  How would they explain what had happened to them?

            _Excuse us.  We invaded the Ministry earlier today, and got into a confrontation earlier today with Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries!_

            Luckily Hermione was quicker on her feet.

            “Please, ma’am.  Something terrible happened and we lost our wands and got separated from our friends.  We just need to use your Floo, please?”

            To Harry’s great surprise, the witch nodded in understanding. “Of course you may.  Bad days, these.  Tragedy waiting around every corner,” she said in a troubled voice.

            Harry felt an unusual mix of confusion, excitement, and hope.  Was this woman one of the people who believed him?  Was she perhaps even part of the Order?  Harry wanted to ask, but the witch didn’t seem to have recognized him yet and Harry was not really in the mood for dealing with her reaction if she did.

            She led them across her yard and through her back door.   They entered a small, cluttered kitchen that reminded Harry strangely of the kitchen at the burrow.  He thought he saw a copy of the Daily Prophet on the kitchen table, but hardly spared it a glance as he followed the woman into a somewhat less cluttered sitting room.  She pulled her wand out of her pocket and pointed it at the fireplace, which immediately blazed to life.  She grabbed a small pot off the mantle and offered it to Harry and Hermione.

            “Here you go, dears.  I assume you know how to use the Floo?”

            “Yes – thank you ma’am,” Harry said.  He grabbed a pinch of Floo and tossed in into the flames and jumped inside with a shout of “Hogsmeade!”

            He flied through the Floo in a familiar spinning sensation.  Fireplace after fireplace whirled past him.  It felt like ages – how far were they from Hogwarts? – but was probably only moments before he was being spat out of the fire and promptly fell flat on his face.

            The force of the impact knocked the air out of his lungs.  He took a deep breath and managed to haul himself into a standing position, only for Hermione to promptly come flying out of the Floo and knock him over again.

            “Sorry!” Hermione squeaked as she got off of him.  She offered him her hand and he grabbed it and she pulled him back up.  All the while Hermione was repeatedly apologizing.

            “Never mind – we need to get to Hogwarts!” he gasped.

            They looked around themselves.  They were in Hogsmeade Station on the platform.  The only thing missing was the Hogwarts Express.  Harry promptly tore down the path that led to Hogwarts, Hermione’s footsteps echoing his behind him.

            The path was considerably longer on foot than in the carriages.  By the time they stopped at the gates, Harry was out of breath and Hermione was clutching a stitch in her side behind him.  Harry stared at the wrought iron gates in frustration.

            “Open up!” he yelled, to no response from the gates. “We need to see Professor Dumbledore!” Still nothing happened.  Harry slumped.

            “We need help!  Please!” Hermione pled.

            Like it was waiting for the magic word, the gates slowly swung open.

            Wasting no time, Harry and Hermione stumbled through the gates and hobbled up the path.  Harry suddenly began to have second thoughts, remembering the Dumbledore that had been ignoring him with a vehemence that had to have been purposeful.  But no, Harry would not let that get to him.  He would make Dumbledore listen if he had to, through any means necessary, consequences be damned.

            They were just hobbling up the steps when the front doors swung open, and Harry felt great relief at the sight of the wise old professor.  Immediately followed by a rush of fear.

            First of all, and it occurred to Harry rather belatedly, last Harry had heard Dumbledore had been sacked and was currently on the run from the Ministry.  Most certainly not available to meet them at the doors.

            Secondly, this Dumbledore was not as old as he should have been.  His face wasn’t nearly as lined as it had been before.  And while his facial hair situation was still wildly out of control, rather than silvery white Dumbledore’s beard was gingery, a color that Harry had only seen it once before.

            “Professor Dumbledore…” said Hermione’s confused voice beside him.

            “Yes, that is my name.  I was alerted that someone at the gates was in need of my assistance.”

            That shook Harry out of his shock. “Professor Dumbledore, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna are in trouble.  Voldemort used his connection to my mind to trick me into thinking that he was holding Sirius hostage in the Department of Mysteries.  It was a trap, Death Eaters ambushed us, trying to make me hand over the prophecy.  We managed to escape, but I think Hermione and I must have landed on a portkey, because we were sent away.”

            Dumbledore was quiet for a long moment, and Harry wondered why he wasn’t doing anything.

            “You two had better come to my office, immediately,” said Dumbledore calmly.

            Harry felt like screaming again. “Aren’t you listening?  People are in danger!”

            “I have every intention of assisting you both.  However, I will need to hear the full story first.  So, if you please.” He turned and started walking toward the marble steps across the Entrance Hall, clearly expecting them to follow.

            Harry looked at Hermione, who he was simultaneously glad to see looked just as confused and concerned as he felt.  What was Dumbledore doing?  Shouldn’t he be springing into action?  Still, it was not as if they had another choice, so Harry took off after the headmaster, Hermione following alongside him, both of them fuming with impatience.

            Harry’s confusion worsened when it became apparent that Dumbledore was not leading him to the stone gargoyle leading to his office.  Instead he led them to an office that Harry distinctly remembered belonging to Professor McGonagall.  When they entered, however, there was the distinct taste of Dumbledore throughout the office.  Strange instruments and books lined shelves on the walls and on the desk there was a bowl of lemon drops.

            Dumbledore sat behind the desk and looked at them with laser-like intensity.  It was a little startling to Harry, who had not been subject to that piercing stare since the end of the previous year.

            “Now,” said Dumbledore. “I need you to explain every single detail to me.  Do not leave anything out.”

            Harry still felt increasingly frustrated and angry by Dumbledore’s lack of immediate action, but immediately set to recounting their tale, with Hermione adding information when she saw fit.  From his vision of Sirius being tortured by Voldemort to them being cornered in the Time Chamber and teleported to the forest.  Dumbledore’s brows rose in interest at that part, and when they had finished, they looked to the headmaster expectantly.

            “Tell me, children, can you tell me the current date?  Month and year, please,” he requested after a moment.

            Harry couldn’t believe it.  Dumbledore actually thought they were crazy.  He opened his mouth to shout when Hermione cut across him.

            “18 June, 1996, sir.”

            Harry stared at her in surprise and noticed that, once again, Hermione had gone pale.

            “That’s what I was afraid of,” said Dumbledore. “It is not 18 June, 1996, dear girl.  It is in fact 18 June, 1942.”

            Harry felt his mind jerk to a stop and his blood run cold.  That was impossible, wasn’t it?  Well, there was Hermione’s time-turner in third year, but that had only been capable of going back several hours.  And that was purposeful, there was no way…

            “About forty-three years ago, there were some experiments conducted in the Department of Mysteries concerning time travel beyond the limits allowed by normal time-turners,” Dumbledore explained. “In the end, the experiments were proved to be too dangerous and were discontinued, with strict laws being placed on any further experimentation.  It would seem, that in your adventure you managed to stumble upon the remnants of these experiments, and managed to activate them to get yourselves sent to the past, the current present.”

            “But we can get back, right?” demanded Harry.  There was a small, wounded sound beside him.

            Dumbledore looked at him sadly. “It is possible for you to be retrieved back to your own time.  However, doing so would incur severe consequences.  I assume that neither of you are familiar with the tale of Madam Eloise Mintumble?” he asked.

            “I-I am,” said Hermione tremulously.

            “Can you recount it for me?”

            “Eloise Mintumble was an unspeakable that was sent back in time in 1899,” Hermione began thickly. “She was sent back nearly five-hundred years, to the year 1402.  She was stuck there for a period of four days.  When she was finally retrieved, her body aged the intervening time, and when she returned she was physically over five-hundred years old.  She died in St Mungo’s soon afterwards.

            “Additionally, her travel in the past and back had major consequences in the present.  The following Tuesday after her return lasted two and a half days, while the next Thursday passed in four hours.  Her presence also greatly affected the lives of all the people she met in the past, and caused no fewer than twenty-five people in the present to be un-born.”

            _Terrible things happen to wizards who meddle with time._

            Harry’s blood ran cold.  He and Hermione had already no doubt caused a disturbance.  What about that witch who let them borrow use her Floo?  What if she was the mother of somebody important?  Or even the mother of one of his friends?  What if Harry caused one of his friends to be un-born?

            “You will be relieved to know that, since you have gone back fifty-four years rather than five-hundred, the amount of disturbance you can cause is more limited.  You may also take some comfort in the fact that, should you be retrieved you will not be an unserviceable age.  However, you would do best not to take for granted that you will be retrieved.  There is every chance that you have already triggered events that have completely changed the future.”

            “So does that mean we are stuck here?” said Harry.

            “I could, of course, turn you into the Ministry and they could try to send you back to your own time,” said Dumbledore. “But a fair warning, this could lead to even more disastrous consequences for yourself.  You will likely arrive in your time aged fifty-years.  Or worse, actions you have taken in the intervening time between your arrival in this time and your arrival here may have caused you both to be un-born yourselves.  If you remain here, you are exempt from the consequences on the future.  If you leave, you may be flinging yourselves out of existence entirely.”

            Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and Harry could see his devastation reflected in her eyes.

            “I do not envy your positions.,” said Dumbledore solemnly. “However, I will be happy to offer you sanctuary here at Hogwarts.  We will need to take some precautions, and a cover story will be needed – the potential for disaster if your true origins were discovered is high.  Term will be ending tomorrow and the school will be empty except for a few staff.  If you like, I can help devise a new background.”

            Hermione seemed to have frozen solid, and Harry was not much better. “Thank you, sir,” Harry choked out.

            Dumbledore nodded. “Of course.  We will need to find new lodgings for you for the time being.  Seeing as all of the dormitories are still occupied…”

            “I think I know a place, sir,” said Harry.

~0oo0~

            Harry sat stock still at the edge of a bed conjured by the Room of Requirement.  After spending a good amount of time commenting on the astounding magic of the Room, Dumbledore had left Harry and Hermione in peace.  He could hear the running water of the shower in the adjoining bathroom – also conjured by the room – where Hermione was.  The Room of Requirement really was a godsend, because it also provided Harry and Hermione with amenities such as pajamas and toothbrushes.  Harry wondered if they could take objects conjured in the Room outside, because it had occurred to Harry that neither of them have any money whatsoever.

            They were stuck here.  Unless someone fetched them, which was still bad because it would mean Harry and Hermione aging over fifty years in the process.  Or they would stay here, stuck in the past forever.  No money or other resources, and most of their friends are not even alive yet.  If they screwed up, they may never be alive.

            Harry is brought out of his thoughts by the sound of the water turning off.  He felt terrible.  Hermione had it so much worse than him – she had parents, a family.  If Harry hadn’t dragged her down with him…

            Hermione walked out of the bathroom, her head wrapped up into the twisty-thing Petunia used to dry her hair when it was wet and wrapped in a dressing gown.

            “Are you okay, Hermione?” Harry asked.

            “Fine,” Hermione said, not sounding it at all. “I’ve been giving our backstory some thought,” she continued. “I was thinking we should pretend to be related.  Twins, possibly, although considering we look nothing alike outside of our ethnicity that could be a hard sell.  Anyways, my idea is that we were homeschooled by our family, but a disaster caused us to be orphaned.  It’s close enough to the truth, in any case,” her voice cracked on the last sentence.

            Harry felt another stab of guilt. “Look, Hermione, I’m –“

            “Do not tell me you’re sorry,” Hermione said, her voice suddenly hard. “You did not intentionally send us back in time.  It was nothing but an unfortunate accident that happened while you were trying to save me.  I do not blame you, and I refuse to allow you to blame yourself.”

            “But..”

            _“Harry.”_

            Harry clamped his mouth shut.  The way she said his name promised violence if he continued to argue.  That’s okay, though.  Harry is very capable of wallowing in guilt on his own.

            “I can _hear_ you brooding.”

            “Sorry.”

            “ _That_ I can allow you to apologize for.”

~0oo0~

            For a moment when Harry awoke the next morning, Harry forgot that his entire life had basically ended.  He forgot that he was stranded, probably forever, in 1942 with only one friend left in the entire world.  Reality always comes crashing back, though, so Harry found himself awake and miserable.  Hermione was awake also, already dressed in pristine new robes.

            “You’d better get dressed, Harry,” said Hermione. “Professor Dumbledore said that we need to be awake by the time the Hogwarts Express leaves.”

            Harry groaned, wishing he could just forget reality for a little while longer.  He eventually gave in and dragged himself to full wakefulness.  Padding into the bathroom, Harry brushed his teeth, washed his face, didn’t bother with his hair, and got dressed.  When he left the bathroom again, he was both surprised and not to see Dumbledore already there, sitting on a bed opposite from Hermione.

            “Good morning, Mr Potter,” Dumbledore greeted him.

            “Good morning, Professor,” said Harry, taking a seat beside Hermione.

            “As I promised yesterday, Professor Dippet is perfectly affable to giving you both sanctuary here.  He wishes to speak to you, and so I told him I would come down here to wake you up and am currently allowing you to dress,” his eyes gave a familiar twinkle. “Now, Miss Granger here has given me the rundown of your proposed backstory.  I found it quite impressive, but would like to make a few suggestions of my own.  Mainly cosmetic.”

            “Please do,” said Hermione.

            “You suggest that you pose as family – twins, to be exact.  Which is advantageous because it keeps your backstory simple.  The one flaw I would suggest is that you two do not physically resemble each other.  It would still be possible to pass you off as fraternal twins, but there is a large issue in your appearance, Harry.”

            “My appearance?” Harry tried not to sound too offended.

            “Rest assured, I do not mean to insult,” Dumbledore insisted, twinkling like nobody’s business. “The crux is that you physically resemble what I assume is your paternal family to a rather large extent.  Had it not been for your difference in age and eye color, I may have mistaken you for Fleamont or Charlus.”

            “Oh,” said Harry. “Yeah, I see how that could be a problem.”

            “I do have a possible remedy to the problem, but I am afraid you may have some moral objections to it,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have any of you ever heard of Genus Merger?”

            Harry most certainly hadn’t.  He looked to Hermione and saw that, for once, she was as clueless as he was.

            “I would suppose not.  It was been outlawed by the Ministry for several years in this time.  You see, Genus Merger is a potion, which shares some similarities with polyjuice.  However, there are three key differences.

            “One, instead of changing your appearance to match another you are in fact merging your DNA with that of another person.  You will still retain your own personality and many of your physical qualities, but will also take on physical qualities of the other person.  In essence, you will become blood family.

            “Second, the effects of Genus Merger are absolutely permanent.  There is no known antidote once it has been imbibed and you will remain with the effects of the potion for the rest of your life.

            “Third, rather than hair or toenail clippings, Genus Merger requires the addition of blood.  It is this component that resulted in the Ministry labelling Genus Merger as Dark Magic.”

            “So I drink it and I’ll become related to Hermione?” said Harry.

            “Yes, although I’m proposing that you both take the potion to imbibe the other’s DNA.  Otherwise, say in the example you’ve just given, if your blood was tested against each other it would identify Miss Granger as your mother rather than your sister.”

            “I don’t know…” Hermione said. “It’s not that I’m opposed to having you as a brother, Harry,” she explained, “It’s just… a very big decision.  And where are you planning to get this potion?” Hermione addressed the question to Dumbledore.

            “Understandably, we need to keep the knowledge of your true background limited to as few people as possible,” Dumbledore told them. “Therefore, I would like to forgo asking our Potions Master for assistance.  I propose that I may brew it myself – I am not a Potions Master by profession, but I do have knowledge and ability in the field.”

            “You did discover the twelve uses for dragon’s blood,” conceded Hermione.

            “I do?  I am on eight, currently,” said Dumbledore, a twinkle back in his eye.  He became serious again. “Of course, there is no need to make this decision now.  In another similarity to polyjuice, Genus Merger takes a minimum of one month to brew.”

            “What about in the meantime, sir?” said Harry. “I’m assuming Headmaster Dippet won’t want to wait a month to meet us.  I also assume he’ll notice if we change our appearance in a month’s time.”

            “He will not, and he most certainly will,” Dumbledore confirmed. “However, I do believe I have a temporary solution for that as well.  A special charm that I invented in my days of mischievous youth.  A glamour that will prevent other humans from completely registering your appearance, while at the same time not noticing that they are not registering it.”

            “So, it will allow them to see us without actually seeing us,” Hermione summarized.

            “Exactly, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledore. “If asked to describe you, they will only be able to describe you in the most superficial of terms.”

            “That’s brilliant,” said Harry.

            “Thank you, dear boy,” said Dumbledore. “It does have one caveat, though.  The charm is ineffective against someone whom you have already met.  However, seeing as the only people in this time you have met are me, each other, and the witch who assisted you yesterday, I believe we are safe in this course.”

            When Harry and Hermione both agreed, Dumbledore took out his wand.  Notably, not the same wand Dumbledore possessed in 1996.  Before Harry can ask, or even how to phrase the question, Dumbledore said “Hold completely still, please” and pointed his wand at them.  With a look of concentration on his face, Dumbledore moved the wand in a slow circle around each of their faces in turn.  When the spell was cast on him, Harry had a feeling of a very warm breeze hitting his face, although not a hair on his head was disturbed.

            “That will do,” said Dumbledore before standing up. “Come along, now.  We need to be seeing the Headmaster.”

            He led them through the familiar halls; Hogwarts did not change much between 1942 and 1995.  The same paintings still stared out at them curiously.  The same tapestries and suits of armor hung and stood in the same places.

            Dumbledore led them up to the stone gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office.  He told it the password (“Single malt whiskey’) and led them up the spiraling stairs.  Dumbledore knocked on the great wooden door, and pushed it open when an elderly man’s voice beckoned him in.

            “Ah, Horace, Estella, Galatea, I did not know you would be here,” said Dumbledore in surprise.

            Four people waited for them inside the office, two men and two women.  A man dressed in midnight blue robes with gold embroidering, clearly Professor Dippet, sat behind the desk that Dumbledore would occupy years later.  He was extremely old, with long white hair and a beard a great deal shorter than Dumbledore’s; pale, wrinkled skin that held a slight olive tone; and dark brown eyes.  On his left stood a very fat man with straw blond hair and a bristly mustache who reminded Harry distinctly of a walrus.  A bony old woman was pacing off to the right.  She turned to face them upon her entrance, and she gave off such a stern impression that Harry was immediately reminded painfully of Professor McGonagall.  The second woman with grey-streaked, chin-length curly light brown hair was somewhat slumped in a seat in front of the desk.  She straightened when they entered.

            “They are all the Head of Houses, Albus.  I thought it be best if they were all made aware of the situation,” said Professor Dippet.

            “Of course,” Dumbledore said, recovering with aplomb. “Mister and Miss Granger, I’d like to introduce you to some of the fine Professors here at Hogwarts.  This is Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master here and also the Head of Slytherin – “

            The walrus-man gave them both a nod and friendly smile.  He was such a huge departure from what Harry thought when he heard the words “Head of Slytherin” that he couldn’t do more than stare.

            “Professor Galatea Merrythought, our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor and Head of Ravenclaw – “

            The old woman was eyeing them somewhat suspiciously, but nodded to them all the same.

            “And the tired young woman here is Professor Estella Scopes, our Astronomy Professor and the Head of Hufflepuff.”

            Professor Scopes giggled. “You do flatter me, Albus,” she said, flashing him a wide smile before getting off her share and stepping forward to shake Harry and Hermione’s hands. “A pleasure to meet you both, I’m sure.  Why don’t the two of you have a seat?”

            “Yes, why don’t you,” said Professor Dippet, “I believe you both have quite a story to tell us.”

            Harry and Hermione nervously sat down across from Professor Dippet, with Hermione taking Professor Scope’s vacated seat and Harry the one beside it.

            “Now, can you tell us where you come from and how you came to be here?”

            “We lived in a small community on the outskirts of Bath,” said Hermione. It was clearly significant, because there were immediate frowns and pitying looks from the Professors. “We were homeschooled by our family members.  Until one day…”

            “You poor dears,” said Professor Scopes.

            Professor Galatea stared at them in horror. “You two have been on your own for a month?”

            “We still lived with our grandfather,” Harry jumped in. “Until just a week ago he… disappeared.”

            Professor Slughorn asked “Do you know where he may have gone?” at the same time as Professor Merrythought said “What did your father do for a living?”

            “He was an expert on ancient magical artefacts,” said Hermione.  Professor Merrythought’s face immediately turned grimly understanding. “We don’t know where he could have gone.  Grandfather was a bit of a recluse, see.  And more than a little paranoid – didn’t really trust institutions or other wizards outside of the family.  I don’t even think he attended Hogwarts,” she added, addressing Professor Slughorn this time.  Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Professor Dumbledore give them an approving nod.

            “I am very sorry for your loss,” said Professor Dippet. “Although, if I may ask, if your grandfather had such a big distrust of institutions, what brought you both to decide to come here to Hogwarts?”

            “We couldn’t think of anywhere else to go,” said Harry.

            Professor Slughorn actually conjured a tissue to blow his nose with.  Professor Dippet nodded. “In that case, we will be glad to offer you both sanctuary.  Albus will need to inform the Ministry, and you’ll need to join classes, which will likely be an adjustment.  If you need any help, feel free to consult with any of the Professors.  Tell me, when are your birthdays?”

            “The nineteenth of September, for the both of us,” Hermione said without missing a beat.

            “And the year?”

            “1926,” Hermione said again without missing a beat.

            “So you will be entering sixth year…”

            “If I may be so bold, Armando,” said Professor Dumbledore. “Might I suggest that these two enter fifth year, instead?  They did not have the chance to complete their Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and they will likely appreciate the extra year to make up any discrepancies in their former curriculum.”

            Professor Dippet narrowed his eyes shrewdly. “Are you two in agreement with this?” he addressed Harry and Hermione.

            Harry and Hermione shared a brief look and Harry could tell neither of them wanted to take their OWLs again so soon.  They both nodded.

            Professor Dippet nodded. “Very well.  We will need to test you in, I propose around mid-July so you have time to study the material.

            “For now, I think that’s enough for today.  Albus, you mentioned you have quarters arranged for the summer?”

            “I do.”

            “Very good.  You both are dismissed.”

            Harry and Hermione both got up to leave, with Dumbledore following.  Their walk back to the Room of Requirement was silent.  When they re-entered, everything was the same as when they had left.

            “You two did very well, today,” said Professor Dumbledore. “I propose that you work on the rest of the backstory.  Not that you should tell everything to everybody that asks.  The best lies provide as little disprovable information as possible.”

            “Yes, sir,” they both said.

            “I would also like to suggest that, during the summer, you both allow me to teach you both Occlumency.”

            Harry winced. “Someone already tried to teach me Occlumency, sir.  I’m afraid I wasn’t very good at it,” he said.  He ignored the look Hermione threw him.

            “Then we should hope that you have a better response to my teaching methods than your previous mentors,” Dumbledore remarked. “It is imperative that we keep your origins secret, for your own safety.”

            “Yes, sir,” Harry said, not seeing another choice even if he wasn’t looking forward to attempting to learn Occlumency again.

            Dumbledore nodded. “I need to go prepare to brew the Genus Merger potion – think hard on whether you decide to use it.  Keep in mind, it is not a potion one should consider lightly.” His gaze turned solemn. “I do not envy you both your lot in life.  But I promise that I will assist you both in any way I can.” With that, the Professor shut the door behind him with a small but resounding _click_.


	2. Harry and Hermione Would Like You to Know That They Love Their Parents Very Much

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, I updated in a timely manner! I don't know for sure when the next chapter will be up, since I've started classes again and I'd like the chapters to have a minimum 5000 word count. I'm aiming for within two weeks but I won't promise it.
> 
> Also Tom probably won't show up for a bit. I'd like to get Harry and Hermione settled into 1942 first.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

            “The most talented of Occlumens would be able to prevent a Legilimens from accessing their thoughts without the Legilimens being aware that they are being thwarted.  However, this is only possible for those who have a great aptitude for the skill, years of practice, or both.  Unless either of you wish to enter a career in espionage, you will find that level of expertise quite unnecessary.”

            Harry could hear Hermione’s quill scratching to his other side, and Harry himself could admit that the way Dumbledore described Occlumency was actually interesting.  It made sense that Dumbledore would make a far better tutor for Occlumency than Snape.  Of course, it could be that, unlike Snape, Dumbledore did not despise Harry and feel the need to punish him for his very existence.  Dumbledore in this time agreed with Harry that it was no surprise that Snape’s methods were hardly effective.  It rose the question, though; why did the Dumbledore in his time have Snape attempt to teach Harry rather than teach him himself?

            They were in an abandoned room that had been purposed for their lessons and for brewing Genus Merger.  Harry and Hermione were sat on desks that Dumbledore had conjured for the purpose of the lessons.  Dumbledore was standing over a cauldron, which was silver rather than the pewter used during school lessons.  He had a table of ingredients laid out beside him; Harry could identify some type of caterpillar cocoon, lacewing flies, which he knew were an ingredient in polyjuice, jars of liquids of different colors and consistencies, and a jar of something that looked suspiciously like brains.

            Dumbledore carefully poured a measure of some sort of sickly green liquid into the cauldron before looking back up at Harry and Hermione. “I believe that will be enough on Occlumency for today.  Remember to meditate for at least an hour this evening and next lesson we will discuss developing a barrier,” he placed a lid over the cauldron. “Now, onto another item of importance.  You will need to pass the fourth year exams in order to enter fifth year.  I assume this will only be a small issue to you; all the same, I will suggest reading materials to study.  Also, you will need to enter at least two electives.  Which ones did you take in your own time?”

            “Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes,” Hermione answered immediately.

            “Care of Magical Creatures and… Divination, sir,” Harry said much more reluctantly.

            Dumbledore observed him over his spectacles. “I take it you did not enjoy your experience in Divination, Harry?”

            “The teacher kept repeatedly predicting my death, sir.”

            “And was an old fraud as well,” said Hermione venomously.

            “Mostly,” Harry amended, remembering that while Professor Trelawney usually did pull her predictions out of her arse, she was capable of actual prophecy.  Albeit, she did not seem to know this herself and the prophecies she made usually served to make Harry’s life difficult.  Or ruined it completely.

            “Ah, yes.  That would take much of the enjoyment out of the subject,” said Dumbledore with an unusually surprised look. “I’ve never taken much stock in Divination, myself.  However, you’re unlikely to be able to test into one of the other subjects, except possibly Muggle Studies.  Rest assured, though, Professor Lovegood does not make it a habit of predicting his students’ deaths.”

            “Professor Lovegood?” Harry and Hermione repeated at the same time.

            “Are you familiar with him?  I would hope he is not the ‘old fraud’ who was set on predicting your death,” said Dumbledore with clear concern.

            “No, sir,” said Hermione quickly, “we just know one of his relatives, we think.”

            Dumbledore nodded. “I’m relieved to hear that.  I think you’ll find, Harry, that Chrysippus Lovegood is a quite an enjoyable teacher.  He is quite popular among the student body, in any case.” He looked at his watch. “It’s about time for lunch.  We’ll continue our lessons at the same time, day after tomorrow.  For homework I want you to meditate for at least twenty minutes tonight and tomorrow night, and tomorrow at breakfast I will give you a list of titles to study for your placement exams.”

            Harry and Hermione followed Dumbledore out of the room.  When they were all in the corridor, Dumbledore made a complicated motion with his wand at the door, which wavered like a mirage and then promptly disappeared.  They then walked down to the Entrance Hall, where Dumbledore separated from them.  Professor Dippet apparently had a hard line on how much of a relationship was appropriate between students and staff, and they did not need the ancient Headmaster to be suspicious of their activities.  Dumbledore joined Professor Dippet at the Staff Table, along with the other staff members who had deigned to remain at Hogwarts over the summer break: Apollyon Pringle, the caretaker who had a temper to rival filch but a wand to back it up, Elizabeth Dowler, the young and pretty matron, Irma Pince, the (disconcertingly) young librarian appointed only last year, and Ogg, the Groundskeeper whose face was obscured with bushy hair in a similar fashion to Hagrid, except Ogg’s hair was red rather than dark and he was obviously rather shorter.

            Speaking of whom.  The students who remained at the school over the summer sat at one single rather than at the house tables, three of which were stacked against the walls.  Besides Harry and Hermione, only one student was remaining at Hogwarts over the summer.  Thirteen years old and nearly eight feet tall, achingly familiar although with significantly more tamable hair.  Hagrid smiled at them as they entered the Great Hall.  Harry and Hermione sat down across from Hagrid and began to fill their own plates up.

            “’Ave a good morning, Harry, Hermione?” Hagrid asked them

            “It’s been great, Hagrid,” said Harry. “And yours?”

            “’S been alright.  Lemme tell ya, it’s a lot easier to get ‘round the tower without havin’ anybody ter bump into,” he joked, earning laughter from Harry and a small smile from Hermione.

            “Have you made any headway in your summer homework, Hagrid?” Hermione asked.

            Hagrid’s smile fell somewhat. “Been putting it off, actually,” he said sheepishly.

            Harry remembered Hagrid mentioning that he had been a “lousy student” and Harry felt for him.  He was just glad that he had no other homework to worry about this summer on top of everything else.

            “If you’d like, I could help you.  We can go to the library after lunch, if you like?” Hermione kindly offered.

            Hagrid’s smile returned full force. “That’d be right kind of yeh, Hermione.”

            Hermione began asking Hagrid some preliminary questions about his summer assignments.  Harry ate his food, content to just watch them interact.  Hagrid had been quite a pleasant surprise.  It also got Harry wondering who else he might run into that he knew once the summer ended.  Would he meet Professor McGonagall?  Professor Sprout or Professor Flitwick?  How many of his teachers was Harry older than now?  And then there were people Harry knew outside of Hogwarts.  Mr and Mrs Weasley were definitely too young, probably not even born yet.  Then there was…

            Harry felt his blood run cold.  His food went down the wrong pipe and he coughed violently, trying to expel it.

            _“Anapneo!”_

            Harry’s throat immediately cleared.  He looked up to see Hagrid pointing an unusually long wand at him.  Hermione was looking between Harry and Hagrid with a mixture of worry and slight amazement.

            “Are you okay, Mr Granger?” Professor Dippet called from the Staff Table.  They were all half stood, clearly having been about to come to his aid.

            “I’m fine, sir!” Harry called back.

            Professor Dippet nodded. “Well done, Mr Hagrid,” the Headmaster said before sitting down.

            “Yeah, thanks Hagrid,” Harry agreed.

            “Ah, it was nothin’,” Hagrid self-consciously stuffed his wand back in his robes. “Dad used ter use that spell on me a lot.  I ate too fast, see.”

            “That was still very quick thinking, Hagrid,” said Hermione.

            Hagrid blushed and continued to eat his lunch instead of answering her.  Harry had lost his appetite, caught back up in the chain of thought that had led him to choking in the first place. There was something that he had neglected to tell Dumbledore that he most definitely should have.  He waited until the end of lunch, and made eye contact with Dumbledore, who nodded to him before leaving the Great Hall.

            “I’ll catch up with you both later,” said Harry. “I have to go talk to Dumbledore about something.”

            Hermione looked at him concernedly but nodded while Hagrid merely waved a cheery goodbye.  Harry took off after Dumbledore, who was waiting for him just off the Entrance Hall.

            “Is something wrong, Harry?” Dumbledore asked immediately.

            “It’s Tom Riddle – he’s Voldemort,” Harry blurted out quickly.

            Dumbledore didn’t look surprised so much as sad. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “I had guessed from your story when you arrived, and hoped I was wrong.  Thank you for warning me, Harry.”

            “Are you going to do something about him?” Harry asked.

            “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do, Harry, at least not right now,” said Dumbledore. “As of today, Tom Riddle has not done anything wrong, and I very well cannot punish him for something he hasn’t done yet.”

            “So there’s nothing we can do?” said Harry desperately.

            “Not quite,” said Dumbledore. “Using your knowledge of him, we may possibly be able to prevent some of his misdeeds before they occur.”

            “He’s going to open the Chamber of Secrets this year,” Harry began immediately. “There’s a basilisk inside.  He uses it to petrify a bunch of muggle-born students.  Toward the end of the year, he’ll use it to kill a Ravenclaw named Myrtle.  He’ll blame her death on Hagrid’s pet acromantula, Aragog, and gets him expelled.”

            Dumbledore’s eyes glinted worriedly. “Thank you for telling me that, Harry.  Tell me, do you know where the entrance to the Chamber is?”

            “In the first floor girl’s lavatory,” said Harry, feeling a little silly. “There’s a small snake carved into one of the sinks.  If you speak to it in Parseltongue, the sinks open to reveal the entrance.”

            Dumbledore nodded. “Thank you for revealing this to me, Harry.  Trust me, I will make sure that Tom will be unable to access the Chamber.  Also, perhaps I should impress upon Hagrid the restrictions on what types of animal companions are permitted inside of Hogwarts.” He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Well done, Harry.”

            With that he marched away from Harry with a purposeful stride.  Harry watched him until he turned down another corridor and was gone.

~0oo0~

            “What did you need to talk to Professor Dumbledore about?” asked Hermione.

            It was the evening.  They had separated from Hagrid and were safely inside the privacy of the Room of Requirement.  Hermione had spent a decent part of their study session with Hagrid throwing Harry covert, questioning looks.  She only seemed satisfied when Harry had mouthed _later_ to her.  Sure enough, she’d jumped to questioning him the second the door shut behind them.

            “I warned him about Voldemort,” said Harry.

            Hermione’s eyes widened. “This is the year he opens the Chamber of Secrets, isn’t it?” she gasped.

            “Was the year.  I told Dumbledore where the entrance is – he’s going to make sure Voldemort never finds it,” Harry said, unable to help his pleased smile.

            Harry was surprised when Hermione’s face, instead of becoming relieved, was split with hesitation.

            “What?” Harry asked.

            “Oh, nothing,” said Hermione. “You were right to do it, of course.  It’s just that this is sort of messing heavily with the timeline, isn’t it?” she remarked. “But then again, I’m pretty sure neither of us would be able to forgive ourselves if we didn’t at least try to save Myrtle.”

            _And decades of future male prefects from being ogled by a lecherous ghost_ , Harry added to himself, remembering his encounter with Myrtle in fourth year.

            “Or everyone else Voldemort is planning to kill,” added Harry aloud.

            “Once again, you’re right,” said Hermione. Then her face suddenly paled. “Harry, what year was Voldemort in when he opened the Chamber?”

            “I think fifth…” Harry’s eyes widened in realization. “Fuck!  We’re in the same bloody year as Voldemort!”

            Hermione nodded. “I think so, yes,” she agreed.

            Harry felt a little sick to his stomach.

            “We probably won’t have to deal with him much, Harry,” Hermione pointed out, although she still looked quite pale. “He’s a Slytherin, and we most certainly will not be.  Yes, we’ll probably never even have to talk to him, not even be on his radar…” she seemed to be trying to convince herself.

            “We’ll have classes with him, Hermione,” Harry said. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop myself from trying to curse him on sight.”

            “If you do that, we’ll almost certainly be on his radar.  Along with most of the teachers,” said Hermione. “You need to control your impulses, Harry.”

            Harry remained silent.

            “Harry James Potter if you so much as lay one hand on Voldemort without provocation - !”

            “Isn’t killing my parents provocation enough!?” Harry snapped.

            “He hasn’t killed your parents yet!  As far as Voldemort and anyone else besides Dumbledore and I are concerned, you attacking him would not be avenging your parents.  It would be an unprovoked attack on a fellow student at best and blow our cover at worst!” she shouted.

            Harry clenched his teeth and stared at his lap, where his hands were balled into fists.  His breathing was heavy and his heart was pounding in his ears.

             “Technically, he isn’t Voldemort yet,” Hermione said, in a gentler voice.  “Right now he is Tom Riddle.  He may not even have the exact same personality of the Voldemort we know,” she reasoned, her voice cajoling. “Is it really fair to hurt him?”

            Harry deflated at the rock-solid argument.  No, he still hated Voldemort, and would likely never be able to bring himself to like Tom Riddle.  Or even not dislike him.  But then, Harry might not even have to deal with him.  Tom would be in a different House – Harry might not even ever interact with him directly.  All Harry needs to do is warn Dumbledore and then allow the wise professor to take care of it himself.  As far as Tom Riddle of 1942 is concerned, Harry Potter is nothing.  A no one.

            “You’re right,” Harry said.

            “I usually am,” said Hermione.  Harry couldn’t suppress his snort.

            Hermione smiled at him, simultaneously managing to look sympathetic and smug. “I’m going to shower, okay?” she said.  Harry nodded and she disappeared into the bathroom.  A moment later Harry heard the shower turn on.  He laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

            Harry didn’t like the silence he was left alone with.  He preferred to be doing something, so that he didn’t have to think about what he had lost.  Ron, Ginny, Neville, the twins, Luna.  He had to remind himself that they weren’t dead – not even alive yet.  They’d be born in almost forty years, but would have no memory or knowledge of him.  He’d be old enough to be their father.  Actually, he’d be closer to a grandfatherly age.  Which means he’ll most likely never live to see them all grow old.  Of course, with Voldemort on his case it wasn’t as if the prospect was rather black anyway.

            He must have been stuck in his head for longer than he thought, because Hermione walked out of the shower.

            “Have you been brooding this whole time?” she demanded.

            Harry jerked upright.  Hermione was looking at him with narrowed eyes, as though if she was stern enough she could force him to make his mood better.  As if Harry was being purposefully melancholy.

            “It’s not something I can exactly control, Hermione.”

            Hermione sighed. “Let’s work on our Occlumency then.  Twenty minutes of meditation.  It should help you get your mind off things.” She looked extremely exhausted, and not just physically.  Harry had a feeling he wasn’t the only one who needed to get his mind off things.

            Dumbledore had explained the basic workings of Occlumency to them.  It was compartmentalizing their thoughts, essentially.  The thoughts that the Occlumens did not want anyone to know would be hidden behind a shield formed from harmless, unimportant memories.  The advanced Occlumens could lie and hide their secrets behind false thoughts and memories.  The especially talented could build and erect a barrier in a matter of seconds.

            Harry once again wondered why he’d been taught by Snape, when clearly Dumbledore was clearly a far more effective and unbiased teacher.

            The first step to learning Occlumency was to be able to clear the mind.  Harry did not find this as hard to practice when someone was not trying to invade his mind as he was attempting to do it, although it still presented him with difficulties.

            Not thinking was a hard concept for Harry.  He tried his hardest to keep his mind perfectly blank but thoughts crept in at the edge of his awareness.  He was someone who preferred action, always needed to be doing something.  It cost him great effort to sit still as he was, to not think of anything.

            Time seemed to tick by slowly.  It was silent – too silent.  Harry felt like he was floating.  He was not aware of anything except the most superficial of details.  Eventually even that was too much effort.  He drifted…

            He woke to the sound of fingers snapping in front of his face and a hissed and repeated _“Harry!  Harry!”_ right in front of his face.  He snapped back to awareness to see Hermione’s brown eyes less than a foot in front of her face.  Harry startled slightly at the witch’s proximity.

            “What?” Harry asked.

            “I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes,” said Hermione. “You were in some sort of trance.  You were drooling,” she added a little sheepishly.

            Harry used his sleeve to wipe away the saliva that, sure enough, had been trickling out of his mouth. “I was clearing my mind – like we were supposed to do,” he grumbled self-consciously.

            “Well, I think you were doing it a little too well,” said Hermione.

            “Thanks.”

            “Oh, don’t worry, Harry.  You’ll get it eventually,” Hermione assured him. “You just have to keep at it.”

~0oo0~

            Harry flipped through the fourth year Defense textbook he was studying in the Library.  He already knew most of what was in it.  Hell, in his fourth year he’d already studied sixth year spells to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament.  He also understood most of the work for Charms, Transfiguration, and even Potions and History of Magic were not very daunting.

            Hermione, on the other hand, was taking it all very seriously.  Oh, there was a significant difference in Normal Exams Hermione and Retaking Exams Hermione, for sure.  Her gaze was still glued to the book but she was not disheveled from stress.  She was also less prone to threatening Harry when he interrupted her or made any small noise.

            Their days had entered a routine.  They alternated the days learning Occlumency from Dumbledore and studying for their fourth year exams, which were creeping closer as June gave way to July.  Harry was slowly but surely improving in the former.  He no longer became a catatonic, drooling mess when he cleared his mind and had begun building a barrier.  It was a bit difficult finding non-incriminating memories to build his shield with, but he was making progress.  Hermione, of course, was far ahead of him.  Not only was Snape a shoddy teacher, as Harry was firmly decided, but Harry had a natural disinclination for Occlumency.  Still, Dumbledore assured him that with his current progress he should be able to withstand all but an attack from an advanced Legilimens by the end of the summer.

            In between their two projects Harry and Hermione built a backstory for themselves.  Their names were Harry James and Hermione Jean Granger.  They were born on the nineteenth of September, 1926 to James Jacob Granger, a muggle-born wizard, and Catherine Lily Granger née Evans, a half-blood witch.  They were educated in Magic by their mother’s family, none of whom had attended Hogwarts in multiple generations.

            It had been Hermione’s idea to combine the names of their parents, and Harry had been somewhat choked up by it.  He got a lump in his throat at the thought of it and cleared his throat.

            “Are you okay, Harry?”

            Hermione was looking at him with concern.  This had been a frequent question from her in the weeks following their arrival, especially when Harry appeared especially down.  Harry had always been heavily prone to brooding, and it had become worse with the shit-show his life had become.  Hermione, on the other hand, hardly seemed affected at all.  However, their Occlumency lessons and her talent in the lessons should be proof enough that Hermione could compartmentalize along with the best of them when she really wanted to.

            “No,” Harry said honestly. “Are you?” he asked.  He felt a stir of guilt when he realized that it was the first time he had ever bothered to ask that question.

            Hermione gave him a sad smile. “I try not to think about it,” she confessed, “and when the thoughts refuse to be pushed away, I try to think of the good things.”

            “Like what?” Harry asked earnestly.

            “Like the fact that the people we left behind, they’re not actually gone.  In fact, our friends should all be born in under forty years,” she said, a bit dryly. “And also,” she continued more seriously, “we’ve actually been given a great opportunity, haven’t we?  There are so many people who will not have to die because we’re here: your parents, Cedric… And also, there’s the fact that we no longer have the threat of a Dark Lord hanging over our heads.”

            “There’s still Grindelwald,” Harry pointed out. “And if we’re going to save all those people, we’ll need to deal with Riddle.”

            “Yes, but Grindelwald isn’t exactly our problem, is he?  Dumbledore will defeat him three years from now.  And as for Riddle, well as of right now he is in a much less intimidating, fifteen-year-old package,” she said brightly.

            “Who released a basilisk and used it to torment the school.”

            “Yes, but Dumbledore has insured that will not happen.”

            That thought was especially comforting.  Hermione was right, Riddle was not yet the indestructible, seemingly immortal Dark Lord from their time.  At the moment, he was only a teenage boy who was, in actuality, a bit younger than them.  With their knowledge from the future on their side, Lord Voldemort could be stopped before he could begin.

            “I have something else I want to discuss with you, actually,” Hermione said suddenly, biting her lip. “Genus Merger, too be exact.”

            “Oh,” said Harry, “that.”

            “We haven’t really talked about it at all,” Hermione continued, “and I honestly expected you to have more objections to it.”

            “I’ve been trying not to think about it,” Harry confessed.

            “I know how attached you are to your parent’s memories,” Hermione said softly.

            “And I look exactly like my dad, and have my mum’s eyes,” Harry took a deep breath. “The odd thing is, I actually don’t mind the idea as much as I think I should.”

            Hermione stared at him questioningly. “Please explain,” she prompted him.

            “All my life I’ve been compared to my parents.  How I look just like my dad and have my mum’s eyes.  Every time I do something, it goes back to them. How I’m so much like them.  It usually makes me so happy, but also…”

            “You want to be your own person,” Hermione finished for him.  Her voice held none of the condemnation Harry felt he deserved for his intrusive, traitorous thoughts.  Only gentle understanding.

            “But at the same time,” Harry continued, “this is really the only connection I have to them now.  James Potter and Lily Evans will be born in 18 years but I won’t be their son.  My looks… they’re the only connection I have left to them.”

            Harry bit his lip and looked down, not able to take the pity in Hermione’s expression.

            “But I know the way I look is a liability.  People will ask questions… it’ll draw more attention to us than we need.  We also can’t very well keep using the glamour for the rest of our lives either.  I guess… I just wish there was a way I could hold on to what I have left.”

            Hermione’s hand came to cover his on his knee.  She gave him a comforting squeeze. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” she said.  She wrapped her other arm around his shoulder and his sight was temporarily obscured by bushy brown hair as she hugged him.

            “I have my dad’s hair texture, and I have his teeth – _had_ his teeth,” Hermione added unexpectedly. “But the color isn’t the same – my dad is blond.  My mother’s hair was more manageable but other than that I take almost completely after her.”

            Harry blinked, his eyes stinging at the grief in her voice.  He was reminded again that Hermione had lost just as much as he had.  More even.  It was a bit awkward from the angle they were at, but Harry managed to bring his arm up to wrap around her.

            “Thank you for telling me that,” he said.

~0oo0~

            They go to Dumbledore the next day with their problem.  The potion, which seemed to sit so much larger than it had previously, had taken on the color and consistency of pumpkin juice at that point.   Harry doubted it tasted like pumpkin juice, though.

            “I guessed that you may be so attached,” said Dumbledore. “As I’ve mentioned, I do not envy you two your lot in life.  It is perfectly understandable that you would want to hold on to a piece of your old lives, a reminder of those who you once loved,” he remarked solemnly.

            “But we can’t remain as we are – I can’t, anyway.  I can’t glamour myself for the rest of my life, and my appearance would raise too many questions,” said Harry.

            “No, using the glamour as a permanent solution would not be practical,” Dumbledore confirmed. “And your appearance would raise some rather uncomfortable questions, especially for Henry Potter.  However, I do think I may have a possible solution for your problem.”

~0oo0~

            Said solution was so simple Harry knew Hermione was a little angry she did not come up with the idea herself.

            They trooped through a wood outside of Bath, Dumbledore in the lead with Harry and Hermione walking behind.  Harry and Hermione were dressed in clothes that were, even for 1942, quite old-fashioned.  Harry’s hand went up and fiddled with the newsboy cap that was being used to flatten his hair and soften some of his resemblance to his paternal family.  Harry never wore hats, not even helmets for Quidditch.  That fact was a bit concerning to him now.

            Hermione was dressed in a green sundress, which was far too heavy for the summer and a wide-brimmed hat decorated with white flowers.  The clothes were scratchy and it was hardly believable that people used to dress like this regularly – that some still did.  Harry felt oddly like he was in some sort of strange costume party.

            “This should do well,” said Dumbledore, stopping in front of an oak tree.  It must have been there for at least a hundred years.  It would be perfect.

            Harry and Hermione slumped against the old oak tree, happy to finally be in the shade.  Hermione especially was breathing quite heavily; it was clear that fashions of the time were more concerned with modesty than comfort.  Dumbledore began unpacking an old camera and, after looking up to see Harry and Hermione panting against the tree, waved his wand and conjured two canteens full of cold water.  Harry and Hermione immediately began drinking with gusto.

            Although the area was only just months removed from a bombing, life went on.  A pair of squirrels chased each other through the branches of the oak.  Birds chattered behind the leaves.  All of nature completely unaware and unconcerned with the strife of the humans.  Harry looked up as the squirrels chattered with cautious curiosity at the odd trio below them.  They didn’t seem too scared.  Perhaps they’d even been fed from human hands.  After a few moments, they apparently decided that the humans had no food for them, but were not a threat neither and resumed chasing each other along the branches.

            “Whenever you’re both ready,” Dumbledore said, positioned behind the large, old-fashioned camera.

            Harry and Hermione reluctantly dragged themselves into an upright position.  They stood beside each other under the shade of the old oak tree.  Harry tried not to give into the urge to scratch himself – the clothes were quite itchy.  The two teenagers stood together, not quite touching.

            “All right,” said Dumbledore, “say Quidditch!”

~0oo0~

            Hermione set the picture into the frame.  The boy, his hair flattened by a newsboy hat and the girl in a green sundress and flowers on her head smiled and occasionally waved at the camera.  They stood nearly a foot apart, and it could have easily been mistaken for two teenagers who liked each other keeping self-conscious distance between them.  They stood in the shade of an old oak tree, which had most probably been there for a hundred years or more.

            If anybody asked, it was a picture of James and Catherine Granger, taken in 1916.  It was the only picture of their parents that Harry and Hermione Granger had been able to recover.  That would be the story if anyone happened to stumble across the photograph, in any case.

            Hermione put the frame at a place of honor on their shared bedside table.  When term started, the picture would go into the bottom of one of their trunks.

            Just because they had an explanation prepared for the photograph, that was no reason to invite questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also this is unbetaed so any mistakes are my own.


	3. Chrysippus Lovegood Would Like You to Know That Harry Will be Just Fine

            Despite the mid-summer heat, Harry shivered nervously where they stood in the courtyard.  It had not changed a bit – or would not change a bit, he should say.  Even the dustbin was exactly the same.

            “I’m not sure about this,” said Hermione.

            Dumbledore, who had apparated them in, nodded in agreement. “It would have been preferable if we had been able to use the potion before we risked exposing you two to the public.  However, Professor Dippet does insist that you two take your placement exams sooner rather than later, and the potion will not be done for two weeks.” Genus Merger, unfortunately, was leaning to the longer side to brew.  It had something to do with the lunar phases, if Harry heard right. “Do not worry yourselves too much, though.  Just be sure not to draw any particular attention to yourselves, and the glamour should hold.”

            He reached up and tapped the brick with his wand.  It immediately began opening up to the familiar mouth of the alley.

            “Remember – do not act as if you have something to hide,” said Dumbledore, looking at them seriously over his spectacles, “that will only invite suspicion.  I’ll go and arrange your other needs for the coming school year.  You two go to Ollivander’s and then come straight back here.  I’ll meet you once I have finished your business.”

            He grasped a briefcase by his side meaningfully.  Said briefcase was full of valuables (books mostly as the precious metals that made up wizarding money was beyond the Room’s capabilities) to be taken to the nearest pawn shop.  The money earned should be able to put Harry and Hermione through their education, at least.

            They stepped into the alley and immediately separated.  Diagon Alley looked very much the same, give or take a few different shops.  It was not as crowded as it would be in their time – clearly the result of pressure from Grindelwald and the war going on in the muggle world.  Nobody spared them a second glance as they walked up the street, thank Merlin.  Still, Harry and Hermione were sure not to tarry.  They briskly made their way to Southside, and Harry sighed in relief when the familiar shop came into sight.

            They walked in, the bell tingling to signal their arrival.  They were not alone, though – a girl about their age was reclined in a chair reading that evening’s _Daily Prophet_ (INVESTIGATION LAUNCHED INTO POSSIBLE GRINDELWALD INVOLVEMENT IN DEATHS AND DISAPPEARANCES IN BATH).  She set it aside when they entered, though, and Harry and Hermione were then entranced in a pair of pale silvery eyes.

            “Welcome to Ollivander’s,” she said airily. “My name is Harmonia Ollivander.  I’m afraid my father has stepped out for the moment.  Is there any way I can be of assistance?”

            “We need wands,” said Harry.

            “Ours got lost and need to be replaced,” Hermione elaborated without actually elaborating at all.  Harry wondered if he should be worried by how good Hermione was getting at the sneaky side of things.

            “I’m sorry.  I can help with that, at least.  Can you tell me the wood and core of your previous wands?  Were they one of ours?” Harmonia got up and stepped toward one of the many shelves full of narrow boxes. “That could help narrow down the options.” Harry noticed that her wand was tucked behind her ear, partially hidden in her straggly white-blonde hair.

            “Maple and phoenix feather,” Harry said, thinking fast and remembering one of the other wands Ollivander had tested on him.  He remembered that holly and phoenix feather had been an unusual combination.  He didn’t want to do anything that attracted scrutiny, especially if he ended up with his old wand.

            “Vine and dragon heartstring,” said Hermione, “and no, they did not come from here.”

            Harmonia hummed vaguely.  When she looked at them, there was a piercing quality to her stare that must have been a trait of the Ollivanders.  She began pulling out boxes, but without the same confidence in the process that Harry remembered her father having.

            “Try this,” she said, pulling a wand from its box and holding it out to Harry. “Maple and dragon heartstring,” she eyed the wand for a second, “about twelve inches.  Give it a wave, and don’t do a conscious spell.”

            Harry took the wand and waved it, with no result.

            “Hmm.  Guess not.  Maybe I’ll try phoenix feather next…” She held the wand out to Hermione. “You should probably try it, just in case.”

            The wand held no results for Hermione either.  Harmonia pursed her lips slightly as she put the wand away. “Maybe this one?  English oak and phoenix feather, er, ten inches?” She handed it to Hermione, who was standing closer.

            This one doesn’t work either, and Harmonia sighed heavily.  She looked longingly at her abandoned newspaper then moved onto the next wand.

            “Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches.”

            Harry repressed a gleeful smile as Harmonia handed him his wand.  The signature warmth shot up his arm welcomingly, seeming to celebrate their reunion.  Harry grinned and waved the wand through the air, sparks flying from the tip and lighting up the shop with colour.

            “Congratulations,” Harmonia said, “now to get you settled, er…?”

            “Hermione.”

            “Hermione, yes.” Harmonia nodded to herself, “Let’s see about this one.”

            It took three more wands for Hermione to find a wand; beech wood and dragon heartstring, twelve inches.  Harmonia looked relieved, clearly glad she did not have to go through every wand in the shop.

            “Wonderful!” said Harmonia delightedly. “if you could just give me your names, please – my Dad will want to know who the wands went to.”

            “Harry and Hermione Granger,” Harry said, the names rolling strangely easily off of his tongue.

            “Harry and Hermione Granger,” repeated Harmonia, writing down the names on a piece of parchment. “Hey, do you two go to Hogwarts?  I don’t think I’ve seen either of you around.”

            “We were home-schooled, but are transferring to Hogwarts this year,” said Hermione.

            “Really?  What year?”

            “Fifth year,” answered Harry.

            “I’ll be entering seventh year myself.  I look forward to seeing you two there.  That’ll be six galleons for each,” she said.  Harry was relieved that she hadn’t pried as to _why_ Harry and Hermione were starting Hogwarts in their fifth year.

            Harry and Hermione paid her and left the shop.  They heaved a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them and they had to hold themselves back from running back to the Leaky Cauldron.  Still, they were unable to maintain a normal walk and moved at a light trot.  Luckily, nobody paid them any attention and they were able to slip into the courtyard unnoticed.

~0oo0~

            _Please name the incantation and wand movement for the Summoning Charm, along with its effects and limitations._

            Harry lightly bit his lip as he put his quill to the parchment.  Charms was their second exam, after Defense Against the Dark Arts that morning.  He’d done excellent, by his own approximation.  Harry and Hermione had managed to let it slip to Professor Merrythought that they could both produce a corporeal Patronus, and she had allowed them to demonstrate it as part of their exam.  Although the stern Professor’s expression had barely changed, Harry thought she had been impressed.

            Harry turned his test in to Professor Gabriel Inglebee, a tall, thin black man with large full moon spectacles who was the current Charms Professor.  Then he had to perform the practical, which consisted of a Summoning and Banishing Charms, which were easy.  Professor Inglebee, who was more solemn compared to the flamboyant Professor Flitwick, nodded in approval.

            “That’ll be all, Mr Granger,” he said.

            He went and found Hermione nearby the History of Magic Classroom, which would be their final exam before lunch.  Hermione was flipping through her notes, her eyes flying over the pages and her lips moving along with the words as she revised.  Harry didn’t greet her, knowing that Hermione in this stage of exam taking could be quite dangerous if interrupted, even if she probably knew the material inside and out.  Harry read a little bit over her shoulder before the clock struck eleven and they were admitted inside.

            Professor Binns was every bit as monotonous and as dead as he was in the 90’s, but luckily the exam did not require them to bear one of his lectures.  The exam itself was mind-numbing on its own.  At the end Harry was sure he couldn’t have done excellently but suspected that, like always, he had managed to scrape through.  What embittered Harry the most was that he thought he was going to be free of History of Magic.  At least it was his O.W.L. year, and so beyond not being able to continue to the N.E.W.T. level in History of Magic (which he had been hoping to do, of course), he’d suffer no further repercussions if he failed the class.

            Harry wondered when exactly Professor Binns had died.  Surely not too many Headmasters would have allowed a ghost to teach, not to mention one whose students must have had a phenomenally low grade-point average compared to the other teachers.  Harry was pretty sure that Hermione was the only one in his time to have put any effort into History of Magic. 

            He also wasn’t ignorant of the irony that the only advantage of his disastrous fourth year was that he was exempt from these very exams.

            His head hurt when he and Hermione entered the Great Hall for lunch.  Hagrid made the mistake of asking them how their exams went.

            “Oh, I’m afraid I’ve forgotten everything!  It’s been so long since we’ve covered all of the fourth year material – “ Hermione began.

            Within minutes Hagrid looked thoroughly alarmed and overwhelmed by Hermione’s self-induced panicked rehashing.  Harry didn’t step in, figuring it was better that Hagrid learned his lesson on his own.  He was spared somewhat because they still had Transfiguration and Potions that afternoon, then Astronomy that night, which meant Hermione disappeared into her notes after a moment and forgetting the food on her plate.  Harry read her notes over her shoulder.  Tomorrow would be Herbology and then their elective subjects – Divination and Care of Magical Creatures for Harry and Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy for Hermione.

            “Good luck to yeh,” Hagrid told them when they had to leave for Transfiguration.

            Dumbledore presided over the Transfiguration exam, which put more pressure on since Harry automatically wanted to impress his former-future professor.  He think he did pretty well on the written part, and was very pleased when his snake turned flawlessly into a handbag.

            It wasn’t until he realized that something had been wrong until later.

            They’d just finished their Potions examination, presided over by the affable Head of Slytherin, Professor Slughorn, who was the polar opposite of Snape in every way.  The dungeon classroom was different as well, well-lit and actually welcoming.  Professor Slughorn had absolutely fawned over Hermione when it was over and was even complimentary toward Harry’s brewing skills.  To say that receiving a compliment on his skill in potions was discombobulating for Harry would be a huge understatement.  Harry left the dungeon classroom in quite a good mood, thinking back on the day in his head.  Even Transfiguring the snake was not as difficult as it had been when he had learned the Transformation from Professor McGonagall last year, due to –

            Harry stopped dead in his tracks.  Hermione was several metres ahead before she noticed that he wasn’t with her anymore.  She looked back and the look on Harry’s face must have been a right sight, because she immediately rushed over and began to question him worriedly.

            “Harry?  What’s wrong?  Did something happen?”

            “The snake,” Harry said simply.

            A confused dent formed between Hermione’s brows. “What about a snake?  You mean the one we had to change into a handbag?” she pressed.

            “I couldn’t understand it,” Harry said. “When I first learned the Transformation I could barely do it because the snake kept talking to me and it was distracting.  But when I was casting the spell earlier I wasn’t distracted because the snake wasn’t saying anything… no, it was hissing.  It was hissing but _I couldn’t understand what it was saying!”_

            Hermione’s eyebrows jumped onto her forehead and her lips purse worriedly. “Are you sure?” she asked.  Harry could practically see the cogs turning inside of her head and he had the feeling that she already had a theory.

            “Pretty sure,” said Harry. “Do you think it has something to do with my scar disappearing?”

            Even Dumbledore had been unable to answer how the scar that had given Harry so much renown and suffering in the wizarding world could have just disappeared.  With that in mind, Harry was now strangely glad to be rid of it.  It had never meant anything good in his life, after all.

            “I was just thinking that,” Hermione said, and Harry is momentarily proud of himself. “Professor Dumbledore – old Professor Dumbledore – told you that when Tom –“ They’d been trying to acclimate to calling him his given name “- tried to kill you, he transferred some of his powers to you.  It is quite possible that when the scar disappeared the traces of Voldemort within you disappeared along with it.”

            “Probably,” Harry agreed.

            “This still doesn’t tell us how or why your scar disappeared though,” said Hermione. “We should probably tell Professor Dumbledore anyway.  I doubt this would give us any new information, but it won’t hurt to check.”

~0oo0~

            Unfortunately, Hermione was proven to be correct in the assumption that Dumbledore would be unable to provide any new information.

            “I agree with Hermione’s theory that the traces of power given to you by Tom were all linked with your scar,” Hermione was radiating smugness beside him “and that it is highly plausible that the other traces would disappear with your scar.  Unfortunately, she is also right that this provides no new insight as to why your scar would disappear in the first place.”

            They were in their classroom again, before Harry and Hermione had to leave for the greenhouses.  He was looming over the potion, which appeared to be the consistency of water with a silvery sheen.  A light mist hung over the surface of the cauldron, in which Harry could see small glinting points of light like stars.  Genus Merger would be finished within a week’s time.

            “So I have no trace of Voldemort left in me?” Harry said, unable to stop a weary feeling of delight from filling him.  Was it true?  Was he finally free?

            “It would seem so, Harry,” Dumbledore confirmed.

            Harry felt a powerful feeling of euphoria run through him.  No more pains in his scar.  No more visions of his friends and family being hurt and killed.  No more invasions from Lord Voldemort into his mind.  No more having to be live with the label of the Boy-Who-Lived.  Harry was finally free!

            “You two had better run off to the greenhouses,” said Dumbledore. “You shouldn’t keep Professor Beery waiting.”

            “Of course, thank you, Professor,” said Hermione as the pair of them left the classroom.

            Harry smiled widely as he followed Hermione through the corridors and out of the castle.  He felt a hand squeeze his, and Harry looked over to see Hermione smiling at him.  Harry grinned back and brought his hand up wonderingly to his forehead, marveling at the fact that the brand that had been his burden to carry for years was gone.

            They approached the greenhouse and found a man who must have been Professor Beery.  He was quite unlike Professor Sprout, if not as much as Professor Slughorn was unlike Snape.  A tall, cheery blonde man in his fifties with twinkling blue.  The way he posed to greet them, with his hands on his hips and his chest puffed out, reminded Harry of an old-fashioned film star.  It was a bit of an odd comparison to make of a Herbology Professor, but perhaps it was because Harry had been so used to Sprout.

            “Hello there!” he greeted them. “You must be Mr and Miss Granger.  Come in!  Come in!  You’d best put your gloves and earmuffs on.  I’ve got a doozy of a test for you today!”

~0oo0~

            Harry was quite relieved when he found his way to the Divination Classroom for his last exam of the day.  Rather than being in the trapdoor in the North Tower, the classroom was located near the third-floor corridor.  Harry shuddered with the memory of his first year experience there.  He approached the classroom and gave a loud knock, which was followed by a rather loud “Come in!”

            Harry stepped through the door into the classroom.  It had similarities to the Divination classroom and yet was radically different.  The room was interspersed with tables surrounded by cushy armchairs.  There were shelves on either side; one contained books and another contained teacups and crystal balls.  The room was also bright and cheery rather than dim like Professor Trelawney liked to keep it.

            “You have had bad experiences here,” a voice said.

            The speaker – who must have been Professor Lovegood – was a rotund man in his forties with curly dark blond hair.  He looked nothing like Luna.  This man did not have a dreamy air about him, and examined Harry with piercing green eyes.

            “Er – what?” Harry said.

            The man smiled. “You’ve had a bad experience here – or somewhere very near here.  I presume something concerning a large magical mammal, a chess set, and a possessed squirrel,” the man gave a full belly laugh. “Such an interesting life you’ve had, Mr Granger!  Oh, forgive my manners.  I’m Professor Chrysippus Lovegood, Divination Professor here at Hogwarts.”  He walked forward and took Harry’s hand in an aggressive handshake.

            “Oh! Er, hello, sir,” said Harry, taken aback. “Yes, I’m here to take the exam.”

            Professor Lovegood waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, no need, no need.  You’ve already taken far more Divination than you’ve wanted to.” He squinted at Harry. “Although you could have had a better teacher. A bit of a dour individual, weren’t they?  But no, you’ve already taken this class and besides, you have no actual seer ability so you putting any effort into my class would be a waste anyhow.  Better to put your energies toward other subjects.  You have a particular predilection for Defense, I believe?  I didn’t divine that, by the way.  You made quite an impression on Galatea.”

            Harry’s head was spinning.  Chrysippus Lovegood was certainly not Sybill Trelawney.

            “Why don’t you have a seat?  I’ll get you a cup of tea.  I suppose if you want I can read the dregs for you when you finish drinking.”

            Harry cautiously took a seat in one of the extremely comfy armchairs.  It was only moments before a cup of warm tea was sat in front of him.

            “Go on!  Drink up.”

            Cautiously, Harry picked up his cup and started to sip his tea.  Professor Lovegood did not seem so eager to talk anymore.  He stared at Harry with a fascinated expression, like Harry was a particularly interesting puzzle.  When he was done Harry poured the dregs out onto the plate and Professor Lovegood reached out and drew the plate toward him without once looking away from Harry.

            “So tell me, Mr Potter,” Professor Lovegood said, and Harry felt his stomach drop, “how far in the future are you from?”

            Harry’s heart dropped instantly to his stomach and his mouth went dry.  He felt the oncoming panic threatening to swallow him.  Harry just met a competent Divination teacher and it just had to backfire on him somehow, didn’t it?

            “Don’t panic, Mr Potter – or I suppose I should call you Mr Granger.  I do not plan on revealing your true origins to anyone.  I have a very strict confidentiality policy, see.  Especially concerning sensitive information such as this,” Professor Lovegood insisted.

            Harry felt the panic threatening to overwhelm him recede somewhat.  His heart was still threatening to beat out of his chest, but Professor Lovegood seemed genuine.  Maybe it hadn’t all been ruined.

            Apparently deciding that Harry wasn’t going to fall victim to a panic attack quite yet, Professor Lovegood looked down at Harry’s cup.  He didn’t say much, mostly an occasional _hmm_ interspersed with an _Interesting, very interesting_ and _Yes, that makes sense_ mixed in.

            “This is a very interesting cup you have here, Mr Granger.  You see, a seer of my caliber can see a lot without help, but divining methods such as this do help me see more clearly and farther.  This chain here –“ He pointed to a random spot in the cup “- it points to a union.  Not marriage, though.  Adoption.  And this flower here?  A sister.  Hmm, they both look rather congealed, though.  A blood adoption, then?” He looked up at Harry’s face, which apparently was confirmation enough. “Yes.  Not legal, but a necessity – a safety measure.  And a phoenix and an old man – Albus is helping you.  That’s good.  Genus Merger can be tricky to brew, but he is doing quite well.  And here… a snake.  A great many snakes in your future, Mr Potter.  Could be literal, but I’m guessing it is referring to our dear students of the dungeons.”

            Harry’s stomach clenched nervously.  He could only think of one Slytherin alive at this time that there was any likelihood of him having contact with.  Sure, there were hundreds of other Slytherins in Hogwarts, but Harry’s luck did not work that way.

            “And here…” Professor Lovegood continued, “A broken curse, a malediction taken away.  That’s good.  That malediction would have brought you to an early and exceedingly strange death, but it’s disappearance has opened the gate to a long and happy life.

            “The curse was not the only broken thing.  In your future I see wonderful peculiarity.  An impossible task carried out.  You’ll have help, of course.  An inventive serpent and a mother lioness.  There will be trials, yes, and error on the path but a very high chance of success!

            “I believe that will be all for now,” Professor Lovegood vanished the dregs away with a wave of his wand. “I believe that will conclude our interaction for the day.  I believe I have given you quite enough to think about for a while, Harry Granger.”

            Harry snapped back to himself.  He’d been so instanced in Professor Lovegood’s predictions (and how many of them he knew were likely to come true) that he had been in a trance. “Er, thank you, sir.” Professor Lovegood waved at him over his shoulder and Harry let himself out.

            Professor Lovegood was quite right in saying that he had given Harry quite a lot to think about.  He was exceedingly glad that his death had not been predicted for once, but then he wondered what the curse Professor Lovegood had described could have been.  Also, the fact that his future was apparently full of Slytherins… he flashed back to his first year.

            _“You could be great, you know, it’s all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that…”_

            Harry shuddered.  Was that what Professor Lovegood meant?  Harry and Hermione would have to be re-sorted at the beginning of the term.  Up until now, he had assumed that he and Hermione would both be sorted again into Gryffindor.  But… there was the chance that Harry would not be able to talk the Sorting Hat out of putting him in Slytherin this time.  Also, hadn’t Hermione almost been placed in Ravenclaw?  No doubt she would have done very well there.

            But no, Harry could not be sorted into Slytherin.  It wasn’t even about house pride at this point.  Tom Riddle – fucking Lord Voldemort – was in Slytherin now.  The prospect of having to deal with him passingly as a Gryffindor had been bad enough, but Harry was sure one or both of them would end up dead.  It would be a complete and utter disaster.

            The real question was, would the Sorting Hat agree with him?


	4. Hermione Would Like You to Know That She Did Not See That Coming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to the good parts. Switches to Hermione POV at partway through and It'll probably stay on her for a while.

            Genus Merger looked almost like water.   A few things did betray it for what it was, however: the distinctive silvery sheen, the faint mist on the top, and the oddly sterile smell.  It was, overall, much more pleasant to look at than polyjuice, at the very least.

            Harry clenched his fists in his lap, riddled with nerves.  Beside him, Hermione was fiddling with the hem of her robes.  Dumbledore sniffed at the potion, and examined it through his spectacles in the light of the first-floor girl’s bathroom.  They’d decided to move here, so that there would be toilets conveniently nearby in case any of them became sick.  For Harry and Hermione, there was a strong sense of nostalgia. Or déjà vu.

            Dumbledore ladled out two goblets of the potion. “I present to you Genus Merger, quite well brewed if I do say so myself.” Dumbledore pulled out two small thin knives, handing one to Harry and Hermione each. “Just prick your fingers.  The potion requires three drops – no more, no less.”

            Gulping, Harry stepped up to a goblet.  Cursing his shaking hands, he forced them to still and ever-so-gently pricked his finger.  He winced at the brief sting of pain, and carefully positioned his finger over the goblet.

            The effect of the blood on the potion was instantaneous.  It went from silvery to deep, emerald green.  The sterile smell went away as well, strangely changing to something almost sweet.

            “Okay, now switch and drink up,” Dumbledore instructed.

            Harry looked at Hermione and was relieved to see his nerves reflected on her face.  It gave Harry the strength to smile comfortingly at her as they reached around each other to pick up their own goblets.  Her potion smelled sweet as well, except maybe a bit more flowery.  The color was a rather pretty violet.

            “Our hair is going to be terrible,” Harry joked lamely.  It earned a smile from Hermione anyway, so he considered it a win.

            “The whole potion, now,” said Dumbledore encouragingly.

            Not giving himself time to change his mind, Harry brought the goblet to his mouth and immediately began to chug.  It was much more pleasant than Harry would have expected a potion using blood to taste.  Like juice, except without any bitterness and extremely smooth and pleasantly warm going down.

            That was where the positive effects ended, however.  No sooner had Harry drained the goblet than he started to feel pricking all over his skin.  It was like thin, thin needles were being shoved into every pore.  It began behind his eyes, which rapidly blurred his vision and obscured his view of Hermione and Dumbledore.

            Harry staggered in the general direction of where the sinks were supposed to be.  He needed to something on which to gain purchase.  When his hand eventually landed on the sink, however, gripping it proved too painful for his sensitive skin.  He ended up just slumping against them instead, waiting for it to end.

            It felt like forever but was probably about a minute before the pain began to dull.  His vision remained blurred though.  Harry sat still for a moment, waiting for it to clear.  He waited… and waited… and waited…

            “Harry?”

            Hermione still sounded the same.  A shape Harry vaguely recognized was now looming in front of him.  There was something faintly wrong with it, though.  It was off.

            “I can’t see,” Harry said dumbly.

            “You can’t  - oh!” He could make out the shape of Hermione’s arms moving toward him.  Hands fiddled at the sides of his hair and lifted his glasses away.

            Oh.

            _Oh!_

            He could see!

            Wow, did Hermione look different.

            She was still somewhat recognizable as herself.  Actually, no, she really wasn’t.  If Harry had met this Hermione on the street he would have thought of her as someone who had a vague resemblance to Hermione.  A relative, perhaps.  Her hair had calmed down considerably, which was very startling.  As if their untamable hairstyles had combined to cancel each other out.  It wasn’t flat and straight, though.  It was thick and quite curly and rather darker than it had been before.  Easily the most startling thing for Harry, though, was to see his own eyes staring at him out of Hermione’s face.

            “You look really different,” Harry said.

            Hermione’s eyes widened in slight surprise.  Harry had the sudden and warming realization that Hermione had been so worried for him that she had not even bothered to look at her own reflection yet.

            She didn’t spare another second now, however.  She immediately backed away from him and quickly looked into one of the mirrors positioned above the sinks. “Oh!” she exclaimed.  It sounded surprised, but not exactly displeased either.  Hermione’s hand reached up to her hair.

            “You both look quite different,” said Dumbledore.  Harry startled slightly, having forgotten that he was there.

            With some sense of trepidation Harry got to his feet.  He steadied himself with a hand on the edge of the sinks, and if Harry was not mistaken, it was a bit paler than it had been previously.  Huh.  It seemed long afternoons in the library were not completely to blame for Hermione’s pale complexion.  Harry took a deep breath and then turned around to face the mirror.

            The breath Harry was holding rushed out in a gasp.  The person in the mirror was not him.  Like Hermione, it looked more like a relative – a cousin, or something.  His face had lost its thinness.  His features had smoothed out somewhat, his cheekbones more rounded and his chin more squared.  His face was framed by dark brown curls, exactly the same color and texture as new-Hermione’s.  He felt a resounding sense of relief when he found his eyes, which were exactly the same shape and shade of green as before.

            Harry forced his eyes away from the person if the mirror.  He looked over to Hermione, whose eyes were still locked on her mirror.  She had her hands on her face, one finger stroking up the bridge of her nose and another lightly touching her hair, as if she was trying to prove it was real.  Harry understood, also unable to get over the dissociation with the new person in the mirror.

            She was apparently still aware enough to feel him looking, because she turned to meet his stare.  Harry saw the panic in her eyes.  She opened her mouth, and Harry wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly was not –

            “How do I look?”

            Harry let out a startled laugh.  He still sounded like himself, he was relieved to find out.

            “You look good, Hermione.  Not that you didn’t – well, I mean…“

            Hermione laughed. “I know,” she said. “You look good, as well, Harry,” she said.

            “I daresay, neither of your looks have suffered from this transition,” Dumbledore said, grinning at them.  His eyes twinkling away.  His voice then took a more serious tone. “The potion has affected you both even more profoundly than I had predicted, but that is probably for the best.  I suggest that you take the rest of the summer to get used to your new faces.  It may invite inconvenient lines of questioning if you both were to startle each time your reflection surprised you.”

            Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement, although they were a bit absent as they couldn’t help but keep looking at the two new people in the mirror.

~0 Hermione 0~

            1 September, 1942 saw Hermione Granger waking up at the break of dawn.  She stretched her arms above her head, working out the kinks in her muscles.  She brushed her hair out of her face, which was not as difficult a task as usual.  She glanced over to her left, where Harry was still tightly wrapped in his blankets.  All that could be seen of him was the top of his dark brown curly head.  It had taken over a week for Hermione to not startle every time she saw him in the mornings, her half-awake mind convinced that a stranger had crept into the Room.

            She walked over to their shared bathroom and shut the door behind her.  Thankfully, the Room’s lavatory was self-cleaning.  She didn’t want to know what really sharing a bathroom with a boy was like, even if Harry was tidier than most.  Of course, it’s hard to imagine that he could be worse than the one she had shared with the other Gryffindor girls.  Those lavatories had only been cleaned once a day after they had gone to sleep.

            Hermione examined herself in the mirror.  It had taken her two weeks to not startle every time she saw the strange girl looking back at her.  The girl whose hair was too dark and too tame (if not by that much), whose eyes were emerald green instead of brown (she secretly liked this change, an insecure part of her having thought her regular brown eyes were too plain), whose cheekbones were too sharp, her eyebrows too thin, her chin too tapered.  The strange girl who Hermione quite liked the look of, despite years of conditioning herself that what she had was enough, that beauty was shallow and intellect and ability was better, who had enjoyed the way she had been looked at during her fourth year.  The first time anyone besides her parents had referred to her as pretty.

            Shaking such thoughts from her head, Hermione swung around and took off her nightclothes before stepping into the shower.  She carefully combed the tangles out of her hair, a process which had eased significantly.  Hermione loved her new hair for this reason – a very practical reason.

            She stepped out back out into the main room, her body covered by a robe and hair wrapped up to dry.  Harry was still fast asleep.  Hermione thought about letting him sleep in; they wouldn’t need to be ready until dinner.  However, Harry would need to get used to waking up earlier in the mornings for classes.  It wouldn’t be doing him any favors to allow him to keep the habit of sleeping in, even for just the last day.

            With that in mind, Hermione walked over to stand beside Harry’s bed and reached down to jostle his shoulder.  Harry twitched but didn’t wake up.  Hermione sighed in exasperation and jostled him harder.

            “Wake up, Harry,” she commanded.  It took another minute of effort but eventually Harry was sitting up and glaring balefully at her through sleepy eyes.

            “Alright already!  Why do I need to be up, anyway?  We don’t have to do anything until this evening!” he whined.

            “Yes, but we’ll have to be up tomorrow for classes.  It’s better to be in the habit now than suffer tomorrow,” she scolded. “Now go take a shower.”

            Harry glared at her but padded off toward the bathroom, grumbling the whole way.  The door shutting harder than necessary behind him.  Hermione heard the shower turning on a few seconds later.  Hermione cast a Drying Charm on her hair and dressed and exited the room.  Harry would thank her for leaving when he realized that he forgot to bring his bath robe or any clothes into the bathroom with him.

            Her new Hogwarts robes fit comfortably on her, although she couldn’t help but forlornly touch the spot where her prefect badge had once been pinned.  Of course, she could not have continued as prefect now – Hogwarts would have current prefects, those who had worked hard to deserve the position.  Of course, there were those like Malfoy, Parkinson and, although Hermione felt traitorous for thinking it, Ron who did not deserve the position.  Malfoy and Parkinson had only got it by virtue of their family names rather than any grades or show of responsibility.  Theodore Nott had had better grades than Malfoy, Hermione knew.  Nott also wasn’t as openly prejudiced as Malfoy, although he did give Hermione a look of vague distaste whenever he looked at her.

            Then there was Parkinson, whose name alone made Hermione’s blood boil.  She could think of no less than three Slytherin girls in their year who would have made better prefects.  Greengrass and Runcorn, while they freely laughed at Hermione along with Parkinson, were significantly tamer when separated from their ringleader.  Tracey Davis would have been Hermione’s first choice.  She didn’t laugh or mock along with the other girls, although she did nothing to help Hermione either.  In their shared Arithmancy class, where the only other Slytherin was Nott, Davis was even _polite_ to Hermione, if aloof.  Now that Hermione thought about it, even Millicent Bulstrode would have been a better than Parkinson.  Other than the head-locking incident in second year, Bulstrode was surprisingly soft-spoken.

            Then there was Ron.  Harry undoubtedly would have been a better prefect, although Hermione understood that he probably had enough to deal with without the added responsibilities.  As much as Hermione hated to think it, Harry would not have been her first choice in any case either.  Dean Thomas would have been good; he was level-headed, responsible, had good grades, and was very rarely in any sort of trouble; three traits Ron and Harry had mixed results with.  Harry did fairly well when he applied himself, at least, and Ron would too if he ever bothered.

            It did not escape Hermione’s notice that Harry’s study habits had gotten better since their arrival.

            Ron had held his good qualities, though.  Hermione didn’t doubt that, without him, she likely would have had a lot less levity in her life.  He had been a source of fun and, for the most part, loyalty.  If Hermione was honest with herself, he was fairly handsome as well…

            Hermione immediately banished those thoughts from her mind.  There was no use dwelling on what could have been, not anymore.  If or when she ever saw Ron again, she would be over fifty or even sixty years old.  Old enough to be his _grandmother_.

            She banished all thoughts from her mind as she entered the Great Hall.  The house tables had already been replaced for the year and the plates and goblets replaced.  She was the only one in the Great Hall besides the teachers, who nodded at her, even Headmaster Dippet.  Hermione liked to think her exam scores had made a good impression on them, even if it was fourth year material.  Professor Slughorn gave her an especially cheery wave.  Hermione took a seat at Gryffindor table.  The dishes immediately near her immediately piled with breakfast foods.

            Harry walked in about ten minutes later.  The shower had done its job waking him up, although he still looked rumpled.  Hermione noticed that he still had not gotten into the habit of brushing his hair.

            He plopped onto the seat beside her and began piling his own plate.  They sat in comfortable silence as Hermione finished her breakfast and Harry began his.  Hermione thought about going to the library, but in the end decided to wait for Harry to finish breakfast.

            Hagrid walked in soon after.  He was an earlier riser than Hermione would have expected, now that she thought about it.

            “Hey there Harry, Hermione.  Yeh looking forward ter this evenin’?”

            This evening, of course, would be Harry and Hermione’s sorting.  They had inquired to Professor Dumbledore as to whether they could be sorted beforehand, but Headmaster Dippet was apparently adamant that they be sorted in front of the school like everyone else.

            Hermione did not much like to think about their imminent re-sorting.  There was the unfortunate side-effect of being put on display in front of the whole school.  She had not much been worried about that during her first sorting, eager as she was.  She wasn’t too terribly worried now, either.  No, the big fear was that she could be separated from Harry.  The Sorting Hat had been pretty adamant that she could have done well in Ravenclaw, but Hermione had had her heart set on Gryffindor.  She remembered that Harry had also not been an instant Gryffindor, either.  He’d never told her or Ron what other house the Hat may have been considering, although Hermione did have a guess…

            They separated from Hagrid after breakfast.  Professor Kettleburn had offered to let Hagrid help him and Ogg with some chores on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  Remembering her first impression of the current Care of Magical Creatures Professor, Hermione wondered if he wasn’t where Hagrid had gotten his rather irresponsible habits regarding dangerous creatures from.

            Harry managed to talk Hermione into going out onto the Quidditch Pitch rather than the library (“We’ve spent most of the summer and will probably spend most of the next year in the library!”).  Hermione still insisted on bringing a book with her.  She sat in the stands of the pitch, alternating between reading and watching Harry as he flew around the pitch.  She could tell that he was more than frustrated with the school brooms, which were nothing on the Firebolt.  Hermione understood that the Comet 180 models were only first produced in 1938 and they had been donated to the school about that same year.  Hermione wondered, remembering the state of the school brooms in her time, if anybody bothered to donate another broom ever again.

~0oo0~

            Hermione could hear the swell of noise as the students entered the Great Hall.  The ‘Granger Twins’ were situated in a chamber at the back of the Great Hall.  Hermione remembered it as the same place where the Champions had been sent after being declared during her fourth year.  Harry was probably more familiar with the area.  At that very moment though he was pacing a furrow into the stone floor.  Hermione herself was standing in place but her foot was tapping a rhythm into the stone flags.

            The sound of Headmaster Dippet’s voice rings out, rapidly quieting the din.  She could not make out the exact words he was saying at first until the door was suddenly flung open by Professor Beery.

            “Please extend a warm welcome to Harry and Hermione Granger!”

            Professor Beery waved them out.  Taking a deep breath, Hermione tilted her chin high and walked toward the door.  Just before they stepped out, Hermione felt Harry catch her hand and give it a squeeze.

            There was polite clapping as Harry and Hermione walked carefully around the staff table and crossed over to stand in front of the Headmaster’s seat.  Under the sound of applause Hermione could hear the whispers beginning to pass between the students.  Hermione looked over the pale faces all staring up at her curiously, instead focusing determinately at the doors to the Great Hall.

            A minute later, the doors swung open and Dumbledore walked through, a line of first years trooping behind him.  The younger children looked a bit off-balance to see two older students standing there, and Hermione felt self-conscious as the new first years lined up on either side of her.  She glanced beside her, seeing a rather short girl with curly light brown hair.  When she caught her eye, the little girl gave Hermione a wide, strangely comforting smile.  Hermione gave her a rather wan smile back.

            Dumbledore strode in front of them carrying the stool in one hand and the Sorting Hat in the other.  The Hat didn’t look any less patched or frayed as it had in her time, but then in the context of a thousand years a little less than fifty years probably wasn’t that long.  The Hat opened its brim wide and broke into it’s song:

_I have lived in this castle for a hundred decades_

_Meeting young wixen from every background_

_Some became beggars and maids_

_While others rose to high renown_

_They came from dear Hufflepuff,_

_Lovers of fair play and hard work_

_There was no incident or catastrophe_

_That Hufflepuff couldn’t make work_

_They hailed from cunning Slytherin_

_Where they would give no ground_

_Slytherin knew how to snatch from disaster_

_And make it turn around_

_They were educated in wise Ravenclaw_

_Where logic won the day_

_There was no question or riddle or conundrum_

_Whose answer Ravenclaw could not find and say_

_They barreled forward from daring Gryffindor_

_Where they were chivalrous and just_

_Bravery in the face of battle and bad odds_

_Were a goal and a must_

_As threats come to our shores and yards from close and far_

_We must come and join together_

_To keep our peace under fierce guard_

_The great four must combine their talents_

_And never allow yourselves to relent_

_I send you to your stations and hope_

_That there will be nothing to lament_

            Hermione jolted slightly as the Hat finished.  The Hat had given a warning in their time too, but then there had been Voldemort to worry about…

            Hermione felt very stupid at how long it took her to remember Grindelwald.  She didn’t have much time to harp on it though.

            “Granger, Harry!” Dumbledore called.

            Harry stepped forward and Hermione wondered how he felt, considering her heart was pounding in her ears.  He did look extremely nervous as he sat down on the stool.  The Hat sat on his head, not falling down over his eyes like it did in their first year.  It must have been very awkward, Hermione thought.  It didn’t last long, though, for within a few seconds the Hat shouted –

            “GRYFFINDOR!”

            Harry sagged as the Gryffindors erupted into raucous cheers.  Hermione felt an inexplicable sense of relief, although it was nearly buried under her remaining anxiety.  Harry went to join them, several Gryffindors immediately reaching ostensibly to shake his hand and introduce themselves.  Hagrid reached over and pat Harry on the pack, nearly bashing his head on the table.  Pretty soon though, Professor Dumbledore was calling for silence again.

            “Granger, Hermione!”

            She walked on autopilot toward the stool.  She did not quite dare to look into the crowd, not even to catch Harry’s eye.  Instead, she stared above the heads of everybody.  Taking a strengthening breath, Hermione put the Sorting Hat onto her head.

            “Ah, another interesting subject!  Not quite as easy to place as your… brother.  Hmm, where should I put you?”

            _Gryffindor?_ Hermione thought hopefully.

            The Hat chuckled inside of her head. “You did do well in Gryffindor, no doubt about that.  It cultivated your sense of fun and your daring quite well, but does Gryffindor really have anything more to offer you, besides comforting familiarity?”

            Hermione’s heart froze.

            “Ravenclaw is still an option.  But then, you’re already plenty studious, aren’t you?  I gave you Gryffindor because you wanted to be more.” It paused. “Your intellect did not truly receive the proper recognition it deserved, I see.  Only your two dearest friends valued you, and that was mostly when they needed help with their own studies.”

            “There is ambition, I see, and cunning when put to the test.  Not so much a stalwart for rules anymore, are we?  Resourceful.  Vindictive when pushed far enough.  You want a future for yourself.  To be _great_.”

            Hermione felt a bolt of fear go through her as she realized where this was going.

            _No, surely not._

            “Oh, it’s not as bad as you think it is.  In either case, you’re no longer a muggle-born, are you?  Half-bloods are treated with fair if not preferential treatment in SLYTHERIN!”

            Hermione fought to keep her face impassive as she placed the hat back on the stool.  She could not look at Professor Dumbledore, unable to shake the feeling that she had disappointed him.  She most certainly could not look at the Gryffindor table, from where she could feel Harry’s no-doubt shocked gaze boring into her.

            She walked to the clapping Slytherin Table nervously.  They were clapping.  That was a good sign.  To her further surprise, several girls moved around in order to make room for her.  Hermione tried to smile thankfully at them as she took the proffered seat.  The girl to her left, a petite brunette with warm dark eyes and a prefect badge pinned to her chest offered a hand.

            “Hello, Hermione, and welcome to Slytherin.  My name is Phaedra Greengrass, the fifth year prefect.  I’m terribly sorry that you ended up separated from your brother – families are usually put together.” She did look genuinely sorry.

            “I’m sure it will be all right,” Hermione said, wincing at how strained her voice was.

            Phaedra didn’t have time to say anything else because Professor Dumbledore had unrolled the scroll of names and had begun the regular Sorting.

            “Avery, Theia!”

            A little dark-haired girl stepped haughtily out of line.  She sat on the stool and placed the hat (which she regarded somewhat coldly) onto her head with careful daintiness.

            “SLYTHERIN!” the hat cried immediately.

            Hermione noticed that the current class size was a fair bit larger than it had been in her time.  Closer to seventy or even eighty students than forty.  Hermione listened for names she recognized, hearing a few every once in a while.  There was “Bones, Edgar”, an eager boy with mousey-brown hair that went into Hufflepuff whose name she vaguely remembered.  Hermione feels a pang when she remembers where she had heard his name.  He’d been murdered along with his wife and children during the First Wizarding War.

            There were some more names that she thought were vaguely familiar but none particularly significant to her.  The next big surprise didn’t come until she reached the S’s.

            “Sprout, Pomona!”

            The girl who had smiled at Hermione stepped cheerfully out of line.  She almost ran up to the stool and jammed the hat onto her head.

            “HUFFLEPUFF!”

            There were less than ten students left after Professor Sprout, which Hermione would need to make sure she didn’t call her.  When the last student had been sorted (“Zimmerman, Shoshanna!” “GRYFFINDOR!”) the students and teachers applauded and Professor Dumbledore carried the hat and stool away.  Hermione readied herself for the questions she was undoubtedly about to be asked.

            She was not disappointed.

            “So, what brings you to Hogwarts this late?” she asked.

            “My brother and I were homeschooled by our family, but we had to come here – Grindelwald,” she said in explanation, hoping it was enough.

            It was.  Pity immediately shone in Phaedra’s expression. “Oh – well…”

            Apparently not for all, though. “What _about_ Grindelwald, did he kill your family or is he after you?” asked a deeply unpleasant looking boy.

            “Mulciber!  Bite your tongue!” yelled a tall black girl who was sat on her right.  Hermione herself could only stare at him in shock.

            Mulciber – Hermione fought not to shudder at the name – gave the girl a parody of a smile. “Just asking, Orpington,” he sneered.

            “All the same, you would do well to learn which questions are appropriate rather than blurting out every asinine thought that comes to your head,” drawled another boy.  He had a prefect badge like Phaedra’s.  He was tall and, Hermione noticed, extremely handsome, with midnight hair that contrasted with very pale skin.  His cheekbones were quite prominent and his jaw looked like it could cut glass.  His eyes were very dark – almost black – and were glaring warningly at Mulciber.

            Mulciber looked like he might engage the prefect, but in the end remained silent.  Hermione wasn’t surprised – the prefect’s glare could cool molten lava to absolute zero.

            “I would like to know about her family, though,” said a blonde girl with mirthless dark eyes. “You aren’t a mudblood, are you?”

            _“Walburga!”_ two students cried at the same time.  One was a boy with shoulder-length dark hair that was _very_ familiar looking, and the other a girl with light brown hair and a Head Girl badge pinned to her chest.

            “It is a valid question,” Walburga drawled nastily. “We can’t have just anyone in Slytherin.”

            “Going to demand a resort if she is a mudblood, are you?” the dark-haired boy retorted. “I’m sure Sluggy would be glad to hear you out.”

            “Watch your tongue, Alphard!” shouted Walburga.

            The two began arguing in earnest.  Hermione was stunned silent and couldn’t help but admire how similar Walburga already was to her portrait at Grimmauld place.  The rest of the table were watching with interest, as if their favorite soap opera had just come on, giving her the feeling that this was a common occurrence.  Beside her, Phaedra immediately went to reclaim Hermione’s attention.

            “I’m so sorry about this!” she exclaimed, indeed looking very distressed. “Oh, this isn’t a very good first impression at all, now is it?  What you must think of us!”

            “It’s alright, really,” Hermione squeaked.

            “It’s really not,” said the handsome prefect.  Hermione felt small with those intense dark eyes on her. “It’s quite embarrassing, really, for this to be your first experience in Slytherin.” He gave her a charming smile. “I’m Tom Riddle, Phaedra’s counterpart among the boys.  Please, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies on behalf of Slytherin House.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this a little later than I planned but I was experiencing some writer's block that suddenly broke in the middle of the night. About two thirds of this chapter was written in like five straight hours. Thanks for reading!


	5. Hermione Would Like You to Know That She Enjoys Her New Accomodations But Definitely Does Not Care for Gossip (Really, She's Serious)

            It was a good thing Hermione was still flabbergasted by what she had just experienced, because she was sure the ice that raced through her veins must have shown on her face.  She was mentally going through a list of hexes that she would use on Harry for not bothering to tell her _what Tom Riddle looked like_ or that he _was a prefect_ as well as berating herself for not asking Harry for any of the information.

            “Uh, erm, hello, Tom.  It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said.  Smooth, Granger.

            “And I’m Alphard.  Alphard Black.” The familiar boy actually leaned over the table to offer her a hand and a mischievous grin.  Oh, yes, very familiar.  Except his eyes were dark instead of grey and he certainly did not look nearly as haggard as –

            Hermione cleared her throat. “Nice to meet you,” she said, reaching over to take his hand.  She was sure her face must have been quite a sight when he took her hand and, instead of shaking it, kissed her knuckles.

            “Leave the poor thing alone, Black,” ribbed the tall girl, Orpington. “She’s had enough of a day without having to deal with a lech like you.”

            “A lech!” cried Alphard dramatically. “You wound me, Lorelei!”

            She rolled her eyes at him before giving Hermione a friendly smile. “Don’t mind him, he flirts with anything with a pulse.  I’m Lorelei Orpington, by the way, and although it doesn’t seem like it, welcome to Slytherin.”

            Hermione couldn’t help relaxing somewhat in the face of the girl’s friendly smile.  In fact, all things considered, being sorted into Slytherin (the sentence echoed hollowly in her mind; she would need time to get her head around it) could have turned out worse.  Of course, it had only been minutes; there was still time for things to go wrong.

            She very carefully avoided looking at Tom Riddle.  It was hard; the instinctual desire to keep a dangerous predator in her eye line was nudging her insistently.

            When she had a moment, she turned around to look across the hall at the Gryffindors.  It only took her moments to spot Harry.  He was in conversation with two red-headed boys, one a rather broad fellow and another skinnier with spectacles perched on his nose.  Hermione was briefly and painfully reminded of the Weasleys.

            “If you ever want to introduce that brother of yours to me, I promise to be _very_ friendly.”

            Hermione startled a little.  Lorelei chuckled at her expense, brown eyes shining with mirth.

            “Oh, um…”

            “Unless you were looking at the Prewetts.  Gryffindor is infested with them – of course, Slytherin is infested with Blacks so we can’t really talk.  Word of advice?  Go for Ignatius or Balthazar, although I’m pretty sure Lucretia and Phaedra have already called dibs,” she joked.

            “Be quiet, Lorelei!” Phaedra hissed from Hermione’s other side.

            Lorelei grinned complacently. “What? It’s not like your parents can complain.  They’re all pure-blood, right?  Even if they’re blood-traitors they’re rich enough nobody will say anything,” she said.

            Phaedra narrowed her eyes, “My parents won’t say anything because there is nothing to say anything about,” she said haughtily.

            “Oh, please.  You two have been mooning over each other since last year.  You’re just more subtle than Balthazar,” Lorelei gave Hermione a look that spoke of long-suffering. “I swear, I’m one more wistful look and small smile away from poisoning them both and then myself.”

            Hermione laughed, more exuberant than she had laughed in months.  Lorelei was clearly pleased with her reaction, a smug smile gracing her features.  Hermione did not say that Lorelei’s joke was the only or even the main reason for her laughter.

            For some reason she had never expected Slytherins to act like, well, teenagers.  Half of her had always expected either uniformly snotty rich kids or something out of _Suspiria_.  Behind all of the sneering at the students from other Houses a game of politics and backstabbing and careful social hierarchy with Dark Rituals thrown in.  _Something_ that justified their sense of superiority, at least to themselves.  Seeing them rib and argue like normal teenagers was just throwing her off.

            “I know the feeling,” Hermione said.  Images of Harry’s interactions with Cho Chang flitted through her mind.

            A few more of her new year mates introduced themselves.  There was Melphemia Mathers, a rather shy girl with a sweet smile; Marcella McKinnon, a tall blonde that looked like something off of a Hollywood red carpet; perfectly coiffed Nathan Cato, who gave Hermione the impression of a toned-down Lockhart; and Llewelyn Higgs, a sporty boy who played on the Slytherin Quidditch Team along with Lorelei.

            There were others, who gave her the looks of cool indifference and skepticism that Hermione was prepared to see coming from Slytherins.  Lorelei and Phaedra introduced them in low asides to her.  Hermione felt a distinct trickle of fear crawl down her spine at several of the names:  Avery, Dolohov, Lestrange, Nott…

            Hermione barely nibbled on her dessert, her good feelings faded away.  She forcibly reminded herself that she was now sharing a House with future Death Eaters.  In a few years, or even sooner, many of these students would be willing to commit atrocities beyond imagination.

            All for the boy sitting across from her.

            Hermione looked up as she felt Phaedra pat her arm.  When their eyes met Phaedra smiled but didn’t say anything.  No doubt she thought Hermione’s melancholy was for several reasons; being separated from Harry, memories of her lost family.  Neither true, although both were plenty of reason to be melancholy even though not in the same false context Hermione was presenting.  Phaedra’s kind touch did sooth her, though. As bad as many Slytherins were, there were still the ones that defied their House stereotypes.  There may be potential Death Eaters, here, but maybe there were potential friends, too.

            The food on the dishes disappeared and Headmaster Dippet stood up to make the start-of-term announcements.  They were comfortingly familiar; no magic in the halls, wondering about after curfew, and the like.  The warnings about penalties for punishments were much different, though.  The fact that the current caretaker, Apollyon Pringle, was allowed to use corporal punishment was concerning to her.  She couldn’t imagine how horrible it would have been if Mr Filch had been granted that right in their time.

            “Tom and I have to go tend to the first years,” said Phaedra. “The password for the common room is _Serpentes Major_ – don’t say anything, I didn’t come up with it.  Lorelei can take you to the common room, Hermione, and show you the dorms.”

            Lorelei rolled her eyes. “Of course I will and you’re welcome,” she said to Phaedra’s retreating back before smiling at Hermione. “Come on, our common room is in the dungeons.  It gets a little chilly but has a pretty great view.” She linked her arm with Hermione’s and began leading her out of the Great Hall with the flow of students.

            Hermione tried to find Harry again to catch his eye, to tell him that she’s all right.  Unfortunately, he was lost to sight in the throng of students exiting the Great Hall.

            “You can find him tomorrow.  I’ll help you, even – I know a lot of the Gryffindor spots,” Lorelei promised her eventually, probably fed up with having to guide Hermione around people she’d almost crashed into.

            Hermione sighed and gave up, resolving to find Harry tomorrow. “Thank you,” she told Lorelei.  She got a patient nod in return.  They started down the steps to the dungeon and Hermione felt a shiver as they passed the Potions Classroom and officially entered Slytherin Territory.

            “So what classes are you taking?  Besides the core ones,” Lorelei asked. “I know the curriculum here must be very different.”

            “Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, and Study of Ancient Runes,” Hermione recited,

            Lorelei looked at her with slightly widened eyes. “Impressive.  You must have had one hell of a curriculum before,” she said.

            “Actually, it wasn’t unlike here – since we planned to take OWLs like Hogwarts Students, our family had a very similar curriculum,” she gave the practiced explanation.

            “That’s convenient,” said Lorelei.

            Hermione felt a flash of cold at the thought that it sounded perhaps a little _too_ convenient.  She shook the feeling off.  The best way to draw suspicion is to act like you’re hiding something.

            She’s distracted from her worry when they reach the entrance to the Slytherin common room.  She perked up immediately with curiosity.  She’d never seen the Slytherin common room before, only heard about it in secondhand accounts from Harry and Ron after Madam Pomfrey had managed to cure her from the effects of drinking Millicent Bulstrode’s cat.  Hermione looked around as Lorelei led her through the door in the stone wall.

            It was certainly much larger than the Gryffindor common room.  Of course, for the House known for containing the children from the wealthier families, that made sense.  Hermione noticed the windows Harry had told her about that looked out at the Black Lake.

            “How do they enchant the windows to withstand the pressure of the water outside?” Hermione wondered aloud.  _Hogwarts: A History_ was stingy on information about the House common rooms.  It was stingy about information on a lot of things, thought Hermione, remembering the discovery of house-elves in her fourth year.

            Lorelei blinked at Hermione in surprise. “I never thought about it,” she admitted. “I figure it’s some sort of charm on the glass.”

            “Charms have to be renewed though, don’t they?” said Hermione.

            Lorelei shrugged. “Maybe the glass is made out of a certain type of material.  I’m sure you could ask Professor Slughorn about it if you’re really curious.”

            Students were clumping together in groups, greeting old friends and acquaintances.  Hermione felt a jolt of surprise when Alphard and Nathan Cato approached Riddle.  Meanwhile, Avery, Lestrange, Nott and Rosier were gathered on the opposite side of the common room, seemingly holding their own little conference.  Mulciber and Dolohov were partially obscured together in the shadows of a dark corner.  Hermione felt a chill when she noticed Mulciber glance at her.  She quickly turned her head away.

            Lorelei must have noticed too. “Let me show you to your room,” she said stiffly.

            She led Hermione down a long corridor, lit only by green torches, with the occasional window looking out into the lake on either side of the corridor (Hermione idly wondered how that was possible, until she remembered the Enchanted Ceiling).  She eventually led her to a door that had a silver placard with _Fifth Year Girls_ inscribed onto it.  When they stepped through, Hermione was surprised to see not a dormitory with beds like in Gryffindor tower, but what appeared to be a miniature common room.  The far side of the wall was taken up by a luxurious couch with yet another window into the Black Lake above it.  A pair of armchairs and several poufs were dotted around the room also.  A large, intricately carved coffee table with a vase of violets on it served as the centerpiece of the room.

            “This here is your room,” Lorelei continued, seemingly ignorant of Hermione’s gaping.

            There were doors on each side of the room parallel to each other, eight altogether.  Indeed, the fourth door down on the right had another silver placard, this one engraved with the name _Hermione Granger_.

            “You’ll need to open the door,” Lorelei said with humor, apparently finally noticing how dumbstruck Hermione was. “The doors are enchanted so that only the owner can open it.”

            Hermione reached out and placed her hand on the doorknob.  Contrary to the metal it was pleasantly warm against her skin.  She carefully turned it and pulled the door open.

            There was a four-poster bed, which was blessedly familiar, except there were no curtains attached and the bedsheets were silver and green, and a bedside table on the left side of the bed and her trunk at the foot.  Those weren’t the only pieces of furniture.  On the right side was a mahogany wardrobe and, Hermione noticed when she stepped inside, a desk sharing the wall with the door.

            “I take it you like it, then?” Lorelei said with a smile.

            “It’s… a lot more than I was expecting,” Hermione said.

            “Yes, I’ve heard that the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws have to share dormitories with their entire year group – and bathrooms, too,” Lorelei’s lip curled in clear disgust. “We’re not confined in towers like them, so we have more room to spread outward.  I think Hufflepuffs have roommates, but I think that it’s by choice.” Lorelei shook her head, clearly dumbfounded by the absurdity. “Us Slytherins, we value our privacy.”

            Hermione jerked her head around. “Bathrooms?” she repeated.  Surely she shouldn’t dare to hope.

            Lorelei smirked and gestured to the one bare wall, which had another wooden door.

            Hermione opened the door and promptly had a mini heart attack when she saw her face staring back at her from the mirror above the sink.

            She stuck her head inside to see the toilet situated on the left end of the room and a bath to the right. It was true.  She had her own bathroom.

            The sound of a door opening and voices filtering in signaled the arrival of the other fifth year girls.  Hermione and Lorelei walked to the doorway of her room to see Diana Carrow and Sinistra Lowe enter the commons, only to pause when they spot Hermione.  Both girls promptly wrinkled their noses and retreated to their own rooms across from Hermione’s.  McKinnon, Melphemia, and Adora Urquhart came in after.  McKinnon and Urquhart nodded politely while Melphemia gave them a smile and a quick greeting and “Goodnight” before they all retreated to their own spaces.

            Lorelei huffed and muttered something rude in the direction of Carrow and Lowe’s rooms. “You want to wait a little bit for Phaedra?  She should be done with the firsties any minute now.”

            Hermione mentally shrugged off the cool atmosphere the interactions with most of her new year mates had left her with and agreed.  They sat on the couch, which was indeed comfortable, and passed the next few minutes with small talk about classes.  Lorelei was midway through a story of Sinistra Lowe’s face being covered in boils after a Potions accident when Phaedra finally came in.

            “Ugh, I’m exhausted,” Phaedra huffed.  She collapsed in an un-lady like way that was so contrary to her previous behavior that Hermione couldn’t help a small laugh. “So how do you like your room, Hermione?”

            “It’s wonderful,” said Hermione.

            “I’m glad.  Did anyone give you any trouble?” Hermione hesitated for a moment, and Phaedra took that as answer enough. “Forget about Carrow and Lowe,” Phaedra said.  Hermione assumed she was familiar with the two girls’ attitudes.

            “They don’t like anyone whose family is not listed on the Sacred Twenty-Eight,” added Lorelei with a sneer. “Which is hypocritical for Lowe, since her family is not even on the list.  Carrow just puts up with her because no one else is willing to lick her boots like she does.  The Lowes are social climbers that latch on to whatever opportunity presents itself.”

            “You should see the way they brown nose Nott.” Phaedra said, leaning forward.  Hermione recognized the beginnings of the kind of malicious gossip that she’s never really been involved in. “Allegedly, it was his father, Cantankerus, who authored the list.  The majority of it is families the Notts have intermarried with in the past century or want the favor of.  That’s the only reason anyone can think of that families like the Malfoys and Weasleys would be on the list but the Potters are left out.”

            Phaedra gave Hermione a look and it took another second for the follow up question she is clearly being cued for to pop up in her head. “What’s the difference between the Potters and the Weasleys and the Malfoys?”  In reality, she honestly was a bit curious, and leaned forward as Phaedra continued with relish.

            “Well,” she began, “First of all, the Weasleys are known blood-traitors, every bit as much as the Potters.  Yet that didn’t stop Cantankerus’ father from marrying Victoria Weasley.

            “As for the Malfoys.  Well, they espouse the pure-blood philosophy but if you take a look at their family tree, there are more than a few half-bloods named on it, but that didn’t discourage Cantankerus’ older sister, Calpurnia, from marrying Julian Malfoy.  That and the Malfoys are politically powerful and filthy rich to boot.”

            Lorelei looked mostly bored, clearly having heard all of this before, but Hermione was leaning forward in interest.  She was lost in thought.  So the Malfoys were not as pure as they wanted everybody to think.  Part of her had to admire the Malfoys for, apparently, being slightly less idiotic and impractical than other pure-bloods.  Part of her scoffed at the pure hypocrisy of it and thought about the mental gymnastics it must have taken for the Malfoys to be smart enough to know that only marrying other pure-bloods was a bad idea and yet still justifying their support of pure-blood supremacy.  Did the Malfoys in her time really believe all the vitriol that they were spewing or were they just pretenders trying to court Tom Riddle’s good graces?  In a way, that’s actually worse than if they truly believed it.

            All revelations and other thoughts aside, though, she just wished that Draco Malfoy was around so that she could throw this information into his smug ferrety face.

            The three girls say goodnight soon after that and retire to their respective rooms.  Hermione continued to stew over the new information as she brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas.  As she went to sleep she thought of the look on Harry’s face when Hermione got the chance to reveal Malfoy’s family history to him.

            ~0oo0~

Harry was late for breakfast.

            Hermione couldn’t help being angry about it, if not completely surprised.  She told Harry that a good and regular sleep schedule was important.  Does he ever listen to her, though?  No, he doesn’t.

            He finally stumbled in along with another group of Gryffindor boys, just as the Heads of House begin to hand out schedules.  Hermione looked to where Professor Dumbledore was just approaching the Gryffindor Table and saw him only smile at the boys indulgently.

            Hermione was not as forgiving, though.  She stared at Harry until she was sure he could feel her glare burning holes into his head because he finally turned around to look at her.  He gave her a sheepish smile, so at least he knew why he was in trouble.

            She broke eye contact when Professor Slughorn approached her.

            “Oho, Miss Granger!  Quite the full schedule you have here.  Care of Magical Creatures and Study of Ancient Runes and Arithmancy!”

            Hermione smiled. “I like to be well-rounded, sir.”

            “Ah, the thrill of a hungry mind.  Remembering your exam grades, I daresay that you might even give our dear Mr Riddle a run for his money!” To Hermione’s horror, Professor Slughorn turned to address Riddle. “But you’re not afraid of any competition, now are you, Tommy-boy?”

            Tom looked up with a perfectly pleasant smile.  Hermione was still reeling from anyone referring to Tom Riddle by anything so affectionate as “Tommy-boy”.

            “On the contrary.  It would be a pleasure to have another academic mind present.” Hermione wondered if anyone else caught the thinly veiled insult or if it was just her imagination.

            “Wonderful!  Wonderful!” Professor Slughorn said enthusiastically before moving on down the table.

            “Oh!  You’re taking Arithmancy and Runes too?” said Phaedra, peeking over at Hermione’s schedule. “That’s wonderful!  We can walk there together.  Tom, would you like to walk with us?” she continued.  Hermione tried to put her emotions behind the wall like Professor Dumbledore taught her, lest she show how _not okay_ she was with that idea.

            “I would love to, Phaedra,” said Riddle.

            Things didn’t get any better from there.  The only other Slytherins to be taking Arithmancy were Melphemia, McKinnon, Urquhart, Antonin Dolohov, Edmund Nott, and Andrew Rosier.  At first Hermione was glad for the latter three, hoping they would serve to distract Riddle, but of course they all but ignored each other.  The biggest injustice of all was that Melphemia, as shy as she was, couldn’t so much as look at Riddle for more than three seconds so Phaedra, whom Melphemia knew best, subtly manipulated it so that Phaedra and Hermione were between Riddle and Melphemia, and Hermione was between Phaedra and Riddle.

            Hermione looked toward the Gryffindors one last time and saw that Harry had clearly recognized Riddle, if the way he was staring toward them in horror was anything to go buy.

            Sighing and resigning herself to her fate, Hermione looked away and took a deep breath.  She peeked at Riddle out of the corner of her eye, and startled when she saw Riddle looking right at her.

            Thankfully, Riddle seemed content to ignore her reaction. “I trust you are finding your experience so far at Hogwarts accommodating, Hermione?  I realize it must be difficult to start so late.”

            The cool, distant politeness he spoke with steadied Hermione.  She could do this.  They may be in the same House, but that didn’t mean they had to be friends.  She could do polite small talk.

            “I’m doing well, thank you.”

            “Your dorm mates are treating you welcomingly?” Riddle continued.  Hermione wondered for a second why he was showing concern when she remembered.  Riddle was a prefect.  It would be odd if he didn’t show concern for her.

            Hermione cleared her throat. “As well as can be expected,” she said measuredly. “Phaedra and Lorelei have been treating me very well.” She didn’t mention the disdain some of her roommates had shown her.  Sure, he had to fake concern but that didn’t mean that he would thank her for venting to him.  Besides, Phaedra would probably be expected to handle any strife in the girls’ dorms anyway.  If there was one thing Hermione didn’t want to do it was imply to Riddle that Phaedra, whom Hermione was actually growing to like, couldn’t fulfill her prefect duties.

            They arrived at the Arithmancy Classroom, and Hermione prayed for class to start.  She tried her best to keep her emotions under control, but she was sure Riddle must sense that something was off.

            A welcome distraction came with the arrival of the Gryffindors.  There were four, two girls and two boys.  There was one of the Prewetts, the one who reminded Hermione of Percy Weasley, a tall, solemn faced black boy, a square-jawed girl with mousey brown hair who was strangely familiar and a black girl whose hair was in a complicated braided style.  To Hermione’s further surprise (she was getting a lot of surprises that day) the Gryffindors openly approached the Slytherins – or, more accurately, approached _her._  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Phaedra pat her hair hurriedly as the Prewett approached.

            “Hello, there!  Hermione Granger, correct?  I’m Balthazar Prewett.  I share a dorm with your brother, Harry.” He stuck out his hand toward her.  Hermione ignored the snickers from some of the Slytherins as she returned the gesture.

            “It’s nice to meet you,” Hermione said, taken in by the boy’s friendly smile.

            “A pleasure for me as well, I’m sure,” said Balthazar.  Then he looked to Hermione’s right. “Hello, Phaedra.  You had a good summer, I’m sure?”

            Phaedra perked up, blinking at Balthazar coyly.  Hermione wondered how she thought she could fool anyone into thinking she wasn’t smitten.

            While Balthazar was distracted by Phaedra, the mousey haired girl came up.  She had an air of imperious authority about her, and Hermione had the immediate urge to call her _ma’am_.

            “Welcome to Hogwarts, Hermione.  I hope you’ve been enjoying your experience so far.  I met your brother last night – he’s a very nice young man.  I’m Amelia Bones, the female prefect for Gryffindor House.  The ‘strong and silent’ one over there is my partner, Clarence Shacklebolt.” The black boy nodded to her, his expression splitting slightly with a grin at Amelia’s words. “Feel free to approach us if you need help and Phaedra and Tom aren’t around.”

            Hermione privately thought she’d rather approach Amelia or Clarence even if Riddle was around.  She kept her thoughts to herself, though, and Amelia introduced the other girl.

            “This is Harriet Mostafa.  She’s the resident Queen Arithmancer.”

            “I do all right,” said Harriet modestly.

            “A pleasure, I’m sure,” said Hermione. “What is that accent?  I can’t really place it.”

            “My parents came to Britain from Egypt with me when I was eight years old,” Harriet explained in her accented English. “We still go back to visit every other summer.  I know how it feels to feel out of place.  If you need any help, I’m happy to talk.” She said in a lowered voice.

            Hermione felt another pang of grief that she wasn’t sorted into Gryffindor.  Back in the 90’s, she’d never gotten on well with her female year mates.  Especially in her first year Hermione had sometimes wished she had been sorted into Ravenclaw.  She had a strong feeling, though, that she would have gotten along with these two swimmingly.  Also maybe, she wouldn’t have to deal with the anxiety of sharing all of her classes with Lord Voldemort and his future Death Eaters.

            “I will if I need to.  Is Harry doing alright?  I haven’t had a chance to speak him since the Sorting.” More accurately, she needed to know if Harry was acting too odd or out of place.

            Thankfully, they had nothing unusual to report, which meant Harry had probably not accidentally given anything away.  Hermione was relieved.  She loved Harry dearly, but he did have a habit of saying things before he thought them through.

            Class started soon after, interrupting the conversation.  Hermione was relieved for the excuse of class to allow her to gather herself.  Then Riddle sat beside her and Hermione was on edge again.  She kept her attention focused on Professor Bhatia and did her best to ignore Riddle, who thankfully seemed content to ignore her as well.

            When class was over, she did her best not to jump immediately out of her seat.  As it was, she hurried enough that when she copied down the homework her scrawl was much messier than usual.

            They separated from the Gryffindors, leaving Hermione alone with the Slytherins again.  Luckily, Tom did not ask any more questions of her or make any other overtures for conversation and the four of them were allowed to walk in only slightly (very) awkward silence.  Phaedra kept on throwing glances Hermione’s way, and she wondered how the prefect was interpreting her silence.

            Urquhart, McKinnon, and Melphemia split away from them as they left for Care of Magical Creatures.  Lorelei, Alphard, Nathaniel, Higgs, Avery, Lestrange and Mulciber were already waiting by the classroom door.  Alphard and Nathaniel immediately walked over to join Riddle and Hermione was promptly yanked back by Phaedra.  Hermione turned around to look indignantly at Phaedra, who was looking very seriously at Hermione.

            “Please tell me you aren’t starting to fancy Tom,” she demanded in a whisper.

            Hermione gaped at her like a fish, unable to summon anything to say to that.  Phaedra continued to stare at her imploringly.  She was dimly aware of Lorelei coming to stand with them.

            “I don’t even know him!” Hermione managed to rasp out at last.  She was probably showing far more indignation than the accusation probably warranted (in their eyes, anyway) but… just… _no_.

            “But you _clearly_ think he’s fanciable,” Phaedra continued. “You were acting all stiff and nervous whenever you were talking to him.”

            “Everyone thinks Tom is fanciable, Phae,” Lorelei cut in in Hermione’s defense.

            Hermione finally managed to shake herself out of her shock, and mentally resolved to practice her Occlumency for _two_ hours that night. “I promise you, Phaedra.  I do not fancy Ri – Tom.” She _needed_ to control her emotions better.

            Phaedra nodded. “Good.  It’s not that you’re not pretty, Hermione, and Tom is nice enough.  It’s just that just about every girl in Hogwarts has fancied him at one point and it has ended in tears too often.  I have to go, now – I’ll see you both later.” She turned around and walked away, and Hermione swore she heard her mutter “poor, stupid Hela,” under her breath.

            “You’ll have to forgive Phaedra,” said Lorelei, linking her arm with Hermione’s. “She can me a real nosy meddler sometimes, but she means well.” She lowered a voice to a whisper. “She’s right about it ending in tears, though.  Tom doesn’t really seem to like anybody much, even though he’s very polite.  Martha Ribstalk actually spread a rumor that Tom was… well…”

            “Was what?” asked Hermione curiously.

            “I’m trying to think of a less rude way to say it,” Lorelei stalled. “Well… ah fuck it.  Tom turned Martha down last year so she spread a rumor that he was a Nancy.”

            Hermione’s eyes popped open.

            “She just said it to cover the fact that he said no to her.” Lorelei said quickly. “It was dumb, anyway.  The rumor got traced back to her and she got a week’s detention.  The rumor didn’t seem to bother Tom, in any case.  Some took that as confirmation, but like I said, Tom doesn’t seem to like much of anyone, male or female.”

            Hermione nodded but mentally disregarded the rumor.  It wasn’t near as interesting as the dirt on Malfoy, although it was a bit amusing to hear about Tom Riddle being the target of malicious schoolyard gossip.  If anything, Hermione would have liked to have seen the look of Bellatrix Lestrange’s face if she’d heard the rumors.

            The thought had her grinning a little.  At least, it did until Professor Kettleburn approached the class with a jaunty smile on his face and a light in his eyes that reminded Hermione fearfully of Hagrid when he was having them deal with something particularly dangerous.

            “Come along, class.  We’re having a practical lesson today,” he said. “I’ve got something really exciting for you!”

            Hermione whimpered.  Lorelei gave her an odd look but it seemed several students, at least, agreed with her assessment if the way Nathaniel’s face paled was any indication.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added Slow Burn to the tags because 1) 5 chapters in and Tom and Harry have not even directly interacted yet and 2) It's going to take me a while to maneuver Tom and Harry into any sort of meaningful acquaintance. Ah the perils of trying to remain true to characters. So, yeah, buckle your seat belts because we're in for a long ride. Slow and steady wins the race, and all of that.
> 
> In other news, I'll be returning to Harry's POV either after or during the next chapter. No I don't know when or if any other characters will be getting a POV.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has been reading and leaving the love in the comments section.


	6. Harry Would Like You to Know That He is Surrounded by Stalkers and Skulkers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is a BAMF and Harry and Tom finally meet!

            Hermione ignored the people throwing what they must have thought were covert glances her way as they passed her in the entrance hall.  Instead, she alternated between focusing on the rhythm she was tapping with her foot, counting the stones in the wall, and watching for Harry to come down the marble staircase.  She had missed lunch after an incident in Care (she did not want to talk about it) and this was her last chance to talk to Harry before tomorrow.

            He eventually came, with Amelia, Harriet, Balthazar, Clarence and several other Gryffindors.  He spotted her after only a moment.  It looked like several of the other Gryffindors had wanted to come over with him, but Harry stopped them with a few words.  It had taken Hermione bribery, Phaedra and a promise to introduce her to Harry tomorrow to get Lorelei to leave her be.

            “Hermione –“ Harry began.

            Hermione held up a miniaturized bag of food. “I thought we could have a picnic in that spot on the seventh floor,” she suggested.  She looked around her briefly but nobody seemed to be listening in.

            “Oh, yeah, alright,” Harry said.

            They walked together up the stairway.  Hermione looked around her as they went – it wouldn’t do for anyone to follow them to the Room.

            Thankfully, most of the students were at dinner and the seventh floor corridor was deserted.  All the same, Hermione and Harry double-checked the corridor on both sides before activating the room.  Inside it was the perfect spot for a picnic: soft grass, a tree trunk shooting from the center of the floor up toward the ceiling and the pattern of shadows of leaves on the ground.

            “Are you all right, Hermione?” Harry asked her immediately. “Has anybody done anything to you?  Has Riddle done anything to you?”

            “Riddle hasn’t done anything,” Hermione said patiently. “By the way, thank you for telling me what he looked like and warning me that he was a Prefect!” Harry winced and Hermione decided he had suffered enough. “But no, he’s been a complete gentleman.  I’ve gotten a few rude comments but that’s it – none of them know I’m muggle-born, after all.  By the way, Lorelei Orpington wants to meet you.”

            The last sentence seemed to fly over Harry’s head. “Riddle?  A gentleman?”

            “It’s not as if he’s an open Dark Lord yet, Harry,” Hermione pointed out, deciding to let go of the Lorelei thing for now.  She unshrunk the bag of food, unfolded the blanket and began spreading the food she’d brought over it.

            “Dumbledore said Riddle was a good actor,” Harry said, although he seemed to be at least half talking to himself.  He came to sit across from Hermione on the blanket. “So whose been rude to you?”

            “Walburga Black and Mulciber were the worst.  Phaedra Greengrass and Lorelei Orpington are nice, though.  Alphard Black was alright, if a bit much.  Mostly everybody just gives me the cold shoulder and ignores me.”

            Harry gaped at her. “You met Sirius’s _mum_?”

            “And his uncle,” said Hermione. She sighed exasperatedly. “Come on, Harry, you had to expect to meet a few familiar names.  I know for a fact that Amelia Bones is in your year and I’m pretty sure Mrs. Weasley’s maiden name was Prewett.”

            For some reason at the reminder of Mrs Weasley’s maiden name Harry began to look a little sick. “I knew that,” he said, a little snappishly.

            “What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.

            Harry hesitated for a second. “Have you met a girl named Maureen Abbott?” he said.  The question came out a rushed, like ripping off a band aid.

            “I don’t think so,” said Hermione slowly. “Why?”

            “She’s short and plump and more than a little hen-like.  Also she has a soft spot for Richard Prewett.”

            Well, I’m not – oh!” Hermione said. “You think she’s Mrs Weasley’s mother?” Harry nodded mutely. “Well, I suppose it could easily be possible.  I don’t see why that would cause you to be disturbed as you are right now, though.”

            “Because at the Feast last night she was talking about how her Aunt Euphemia got married over the summer to Fleamont Potter.  She was at my grandparents’ wedding, one of which was her _aunt_.   The Weasleys are my _cousins_.”

            “Second cousins once removed, actually.” Hermione did the math quickly in her head. “And you’re disturbed by this because of Ginny, right?”

            Harry’s lips pursed.

            “Well, second cousins once removed isn’t very closely…” Hermione trailed off when she noticed it wasn’t helpful and tried a different tactic. “You didn’t know and I’m sure Ginny didn’t either.  It wasn’t as if you could have guessed.”

            “Sirius told me that all of the pure-blood families are interrelated,” said Harry. “I guess somehow I didn’t connect that with my dad.” He shuddered. “I’m _inbred_.”

            “Now that’s a load of tripe,” Hermione said fiercely. “Your mother was a muggle-born, so you were nowhere near as bad as some other families, and pure-blood has different meanings for different people.“ she almost continued to tell Harry what she had found out about the Malfoys, but what came out instead was, “In either case, Sirius’s parents were second cousins and he turned out okay, didn’t he?”

            “What if I had _married_ Ginny?”

            “Well there’s no point in thinking about it now.” Hermione’s heart clenched and she saw the expression on Harry’s face twist.  Hermione cursed herself for the verbal slip worthy of Ron.  Of course, thinking of him made it hurt even worse.

            “I sort of wonder who else is here that we know,” Harry blurted out.  Hermione was grateful for the change of subject. “There’s a mini Sprout running around.  Who else is around?  What if we run into _McGonagall?”_

            “We won’t.” Hermione said instantly. “Professor McGonagall was born on the fourth of October, 1935.  She won’t start Hogwarts until 1947, over two years after we graduate.  As for the other teachers… Flitwick was crowned Champion of the British Duelling League in 1944, so he may have graduated very recently.  Professor Sinistra –“

            “Blimey, Hermione, did you stalk _all_ of our teachers?” Harry interrupted.

            Hermione’s cheeks reddened. “There is nothing wrong with being curious about the professors whom we are expected to look up to as role models for the majority of our schooling career,” She said waspishly.

            “You know their birthdays, Hermione.”

            “Only McGonagall’s and Dumbledore’s.”

            They continued to stare at each other.  Hermione frowning with her arms crossed defiantly and Harry with his eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open.  Then like the breaking of a dam they both broke out into fits of giggles.  They tried to reign themselves in, only to lose control again.  In the end, it took several minutes for them to regain control of themselves.  When it was over though, the air was somehow lighter.

            “Okay, so beyond oddly familiar people,” said Harry, “are you actually alright in Slytherin?  You don’t need to sleep with one eye open or anything?”

            “Well… actually… we each have our own room.”

            Harry opened his mouth angrily. “Your own rooms?  How in the hell is that fair?”

            “It’s more of a matter of space than favoritism.  Hufflepuffs only have to have one roommate.”

            Harry was still incensed. “I have to share my room with seven other blokes, Hermione – _seven!_   Have you ever heard of sleep farts?  Because I have!”

            “Don’t be gross, Harry,” she scolded.

            “It’s _terrible_ , Hermione.”

            She rolled her eyes. “Well then I suppose you should have told the hat to sort you into Slytherin, then,” she said.

            Conversation became stilted when they finally got around to eating, conversations said between mouthfuls of food (or around, in Harry’s case).  Harry told Hermione about how Hagrid broke things so often that all of the Prefects were experts on Repairing Charms.  He told her about how _I’m sure you and Amelia would make great friends, Hermione_.  In a strange way, that made Hermione miss her old roommates: Lavender, Parvati, Sophie and Fay.  She had never been friends with them, per say; they all had radically different interests.  It was the familiarity she missed more than anything.

            Familiar like talking with Harry without worrying about people around that weren’t allowed to know the half of it.  In fact, they both enjoyed it so much that time gets away from them and eventually they’re scrambling to clean up so that they can get to their common rooms before curfew.

            “We should meet up tomorrow – for lunch, maybe?” Harry suggested.

            Hermione smiled. “Alright.  But I’ll need to bring Lorelei along – she’s been dying to meet you.”

            Harry’s response to this was a slightly confused look which drew a sigh from Hermione.  They slipped out of the Room and, with final goodbyes, set off in separate directions.  Hermione walked as quickly as she could in the direction of the dungeons without risking being accused of running in the corridors.  She was worried about running into a prefect or a professor or, at worst, Pringle.

            She ended up running into none of those things.

            Instead, in the entrance hall she found a group of younger girls.  It took her a second to notice that it was in fact a pack of girls, Slytherins, to be exact, surrounding one lone Ravenclaw.  It wasn’t until she got even closer, on her way to intercede, when she noticed exactly who the lone Ravenclaw was.

            “Hey!  You lot get away from her!”

            The girls all startled.  Myrtle looked toward Hermione with a simultaneously wary and hopeful expression that broke Hermione’s heart.  The ringleader of the girls, an pale blonde with icy-blue eyes, stepped forward and gave Hermione a smile with a bit too much teeth to come off as innocent.

            “We were just saying goodbye to our friend.” She turned to the rest of the pack. “Weren’t we?”

            The other girls nodded with all the earnestness of foxes.  Myrtle was trying to inch away.

            “Yes, and I’m the Queen of England.” Hermione wished she had the authority to give these girls detention. “Now go back to the common room before I report you to Professor Slughorn.  No, actually,” she rethought when the girls didn’t look nearly scared enough, “I’ll report you to Professor Merrythought.”

            The got the girls to flinch.  Professor Merrythought was the most feared teacher in all of Hogwarts at this time, rivaling both Professor McGonagall _and_ Professor Snape.  The girls lost all pretense of innocence and skulked away, muttering and shooting dark glares at her the whole way.

            Hermione turned to back to Myrtle. “You had better get on to Ravenclaw Tower.  Good night, Myrtle,” Hermione said awkwardly.

            Myrtle’s eyes widened slightly but she didn’t respond, surprising considering how loud she had been in her time.  She darted away silently and tore up the marble steps.  Hermione frowned after her.  Myrtle had been heavily bullied in life, Hermione knew.  She resolved to look out for her.  It’d be awful if they saved her from Tom Riddle only for her to take her own life…

            Hermione continued down into the dungeons.  Surprisingly, she makes it without running into a prefect or staff.  She’s marveling at her luck when she says walked into the common room.

            She really shouldn’t have celebrated so soon.

            “Oi, Granger!”

            Hermione whirled around to see Andrew Rosier storming toward her.  For some reason he suddenly looked quite familiar to her, with his pale blond hair and icy blue eyes…

            “What do you think you’re doing pushing around my little sister?”

            Oh, for the love of –

            Hermione looked quickly over Rosier’s shoulder.  And yes, there is the ringleader of the bullies, smiling nastily in Hermione’s direction.  The rest of the girls were huddled behind her, making a poor effort at smothering their laughter behind their hands.

            “I did not push around your sister.  I merely told her to get back to the common room before curfew,” she said coolly.  She had to keep her calm although she badly wanted to throw a hex into Rosier’s face and then his sister for good measure.

            “And who do you think you are, bossing around someone above your station?” he demanded.

            Hermione felt her lip curl.  She reached into the robe of her pocket and wrapped her hand around her wand. “Above my _station?”_ she said through gritted teeth.

            “Are you deaf, you dumb chit?  Rosier’s don’t take orders from filthy _half-bloods_.” He was looming over her now, and Hermione felt flicks of spittle hit her face. “You upstarts should know your place.”

            A crowd was starting to gather around.  Phaedra and Lorelei weren’t there.  Hermione remembered Phaedra saying that she’d have rounds that night.  The other Baby Death Eaters were gathering behind Rosier, eyes glittering.  Alphard, Nathaniel and Higgs were off to the side, looking like they were trying to decide whether to intercede or not.  For one wild moment, a part of Hermione actually wished Tom Riddle was there.  The rest of her, though, wanted to drive her fist into Rosier’s sneering face.

            “Well, I say we’re at an impasse, then, Rosier.  You see, I don’t take orders from people who proudly date their own cousins.”

            Several shocked gasps erupted from the watching crowd as well as a few laughs.  Rosier flushed, his face turning bright red with anger.

            Hermione wasn’t finished yet, though. “Now, if you’re going to teach me my place, maybe you should learn yours first, you _vile, inbred cockroach!_ ”

            Rosier drew his wand, face twisted with fury.

            _“Redu –“_

            Hermione drew hers faster, slashing it through the air like a sword.

            _“Stupefy!”_

            There was a loud _bang_ and a flash of scarlet light.  Rosier crumpled to the ground, limp and definitely unconscious.  There was several seconds of oppressing silence.  The ones who had been sneering happily were now gaping in horrified bafflement.  Walburga was looking particularly pale.  Everyone else just looked kind of frozen, clearly having expected something else.  Alphard, Nathan and Higgs had their wands half drawn, having clearly been preparing to come to Hermione’s aide.

            It was Rosier’s little sister who recovered first.  She pushed through the crowd and flung herself over her brother’s prone body.

            “You killed him!  She killed him!  MURD-!”

            Her voice cut off suddenly, as if someone had hit a mute button.  Rosier’s hands flew to her neck and her face had gone from tearful and scared to indignant in a moment.

            “Cut the dramatics, Rosier.  Your brother’s only stunned.” The speaker was a prefect with shoulder length dark hair, a ruddy complexion and in need of a shave that Hermione had seen around, usually studying.  He had his wand pointed lazily at Rosier and an expression of vague annoyance.

            “What was that?  I heard a bang.  Let me through!”

            Lorelei pushed aside a pair of sixth years and then stopped dead when she saw the scene before them.  Namely, Hermione and the prefect with their wands out and a silenced Rosier kneeling over her brother’s prone body.

            “Oh lord, _please_ tell me somebody killed Andrew Rosier and who did it so I can send them flowers,” she said.

            A bit of the tension broke.  Several people laughed and some even started drifting away, clearly deciding that the entertainment portion of the evening was over.  The prefect grinned at Lorelei.

            “Sorry, Orpington.  He’s only stunned.  Your friend here, Granger, did make really quick work of him, though.”

            Lorelei’s eyes widened and then her face morphed into a glare.

            “I choose to study in my room _once_ and Rosier gets his arse handed to him?  Why didn’t somebody come get me!” She glowered angrily around the room.  Several people actually avoided her eye.

            The prefect snorted. “There wasn’t much of a confrontation to watch.  Granger put him down with one move.” He nodded to Hermione. “Pretty impressive, I should say.  The name’s Moody, by the way.  Alastor Moody.”

            “In one move?” Lorelei repeated.  She smiled at Hermione with delight. “You are officially my favorite person in the entire world.”  Her grin slipped a little when she noticed the numb expression on Hermione’s face. “Are you okay, Hermione?” she asked.

            She shook her head a little. “Yes. I’m fine.  It’s just,” she decided to go for partial honesty, “I didn’t expect that to be so _easy_.”

~0 _Meanwhile…_ 0~

            Harry walked through the halls, feeling naked the whole way.  He wished more than anything at that moment that he had the Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder’s Map.  Every time he turned a corner he expected a teacher or Pringle to appear and slap him with a detention.  He’d heard stories from the other students about Pringle’s punishments and would rather avoid that mess for as long as possible.

            Of course, it was just when Harry was nearly to Gryffindor tower that his luck ran out.  He turned the corner and walked straight into another body.  They both grunted and staggered back and Harry looked up, only to promptly feel his blood run simultaneously boiling hot and freezing cold.

            Tom Riddle glared back at Harry with a distinctly disgruntled expression.  He quickly straightened, though, and his face moved quickly to one of distant politeness.  Harry quickly straightened as well.  A bolt of frustration shot through him when he realized that Riddle was a couple inches taller than him, despite being technically younger and Harry being _of perfectly average height, thank you very much_.

            “It seems a bit late for you to be out.  You do realize it is past curfew, correct?” Riddle said.  He cocked his head slightly to the side, and Harry felt himself grow hot and prickly under the scrutiny.

            “I was just on my way back to the tower.  I lost track of time.” Harry said tightly.  He clenched his fists to keep himself from reaching for his wand. “What are you doing out at this hour?” he retorted defensively.

            Riddle tilted his head to his other side, a move Harry was finding rapidly more annoying.  Without even bothering with a verbal answer, Riddle lifted up his left hand and pointed at the badge pinned to his right breast with a raised eyebrow.

            “Oh, right.” Harry’s face reddened.

            Riddle smiled at Harry, friendly and open.  The expression looked fundamentally wrong on his face. “Since you’re new, I’ll let you off with a warning this time.  Why don’t I walk with you back to Gryffindor Tower?  That way if you run into anyone else you won’t get in trouble.”

            “You don’t need to do that,” Harry said quickly.  The last thing he wanted was for Riddle to escort him back to Gryffindor Tower like an errant child.

            “I insist,” Riddle said gallantly.  He fell in beside Harry, who tensed when Riddle got too close for comfort.

            Steeling himself, Harry continued in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.  Riddle walked with him, matching him stride for stride.  He wasn’t inclined to talk at first, and Harry was hopeful that he would be able to get through this without speaking any more to Riddle.

            “Are you adjusting well to Hogwarts?  It must be daunting after homeschool,” said Riddle.

            Harry took a deep breath. “I’m doing fine.”

            “It must be difficult being separated from your sister.”

            “We’ll survive.”

            He saw Riddle turn to look at him out of the corner of his eye.  Harry forced himself to keep looking forward and not meet Riddle’s gaze.  He began Occluding, pushing all the seething hatred he had for Riddle to a place where it wouldn’t cause him to do anything rash.  Surprisingly, it worked, and Harry felt himself miraculously begin to calm down.

            “Still, I realize this must be a trying time for you.  If you ever need anything, I’ll be happy to help.”

            Harry was tiring of the “helpful prefect” spiel Riddle was trying to sell him. “Thanks.  I’ll keep that in mind.”

            Then, too his horror, Riddle placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder.  If Harry hadn’t been Occluding, he might have tried to Hex it off.  Where Riddle touched him Harry felt his skin prickle as if Riddle’s hands were covered with needles.  Under that, though, Harry couldn’t get over how humanly warm Riddle’s hands were.

            “I hope you do.” There was something in Riddle’s voice.  It was the first hint of real emotion Riddle had shown since Harry bumped into him.  It certainly wasn’t sympathy or kindness like Riddle was trying to convey.  It was something so ambiguous behind the Riddle’s veil of polite apathy that if Harry wasn’t looking for some hint of deceit or cruelty he wouldn’t have been able to identify it.

            Riddle was _amused_.

            “Thanks.”

            They made it to the portrait and stood there.  Harry wanted to get away but like Hell was be about to let Riddle overhear the password.

            “Well, goodbye Riddle,” Harry said significantly. “Have a nice night.” I hope you trip on a staircase and break your neck.

            Riddle smiled.  And yes, it was definitely amused. “Good night, Harry,” he said smoothly.  He spun around, his school robes billowing in a way that reminded Harry disturbingly of Snape.  Once Riddle was out of sight, Harry turned around and said the password quietly to the Fat Lady, who swung open to allow him inside.

            There were surprisingly few people in the common room.  Among them was Amelia, who was arguing with Martha Ribstalk, a girl in their year whom Harry found inexplicably irritating.  Amelia looked up and frowned when she saw Harry entering through the portrait hole.

            “It’s past curfew, Harry.  What are you doing staying out late, and on a school night?” she said reproachfully.

            “Sorry.  I got talking with Hermione and we lost track of time.”

            Amelia’s expression softened. “Oh, I guess that’s reasonable.  Just don’t make a habit of it.  You didn’t get caught by anyone, did you?”

            “Just Riddle,” Harry said, figuring Amelia might find out later anyhow. “He didn’t dock points or anything, though.”

            At the mention of Riddle, Ribstalk turned bright red and scurried away up the stairs.  Amelia watched her disappear, looking almost pleased by the reaction.

            “Well, that’s good.  I’d better go.  I was supposed to begin my rounds fifteen minutes ago.” She glared one last time in the direction Ribstalk had gone before heading to the portrait hole.  As Amelia passed Harry, she made one last comment.

            “It’s strange.  I could have sworn that Tom wasn’t scheduled for rounds tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry for the belated update! It's been getting to the rough part of the semester and I was swamped in school work.
> 
> Also I've noticed that this chapter is below my general minimum per-chapter word count. I apologize and hope the content was entertaining enough to make up for it.
> 
> In other news, another reason for my delay was I've been working on some other writing projects. One of the biggest compliments I've received was how people have enjoyed my interpretation of a common trope. With that in mind I thought I'd turn this into a series or sorts. Or, a collection of my interpretations of different tropes that are extremely common in the HP fandom. I've already started on a potential second installment and have been bandying about ideas for a third. I probably won't post a second one until I've made some headway in it, but I wanted to know what you guys think. Yes? No?
> 
> As always, thanks for reading


	7. Harry Would Like You to Know That It Is Not His Fault

            Harry woke up with great reluctance only barely overpowered by his full bladder.  Two weeks into term and Harry was getting the hang of things.  Most importantly, other than everything else that came with being displaced fifty years, he also had to get used to living with more people than previous.  While in his own time he only had to contend with Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus, in 1942 he had to contend with;  Balthazar Prewett, who reminded Harry of a more laid back Percy Weasley; Richard Prewett, a broad bloke whom he strongly suspected was Ron and Ginny’s grandfather; Clarence Shacklebolt, who looked very little like Kingsley Shacklebolt; Leonard Hemstead and Rowan Pierce, who he mentioned together because they are almost never apart; Ephraim Diggory, who looked and acted much more like Amos than Cedric; and Benedict Williams, who should only be called “Ben, if you want to keep ya bullocks.”

            He hobbled to the bathroom, grateful that he doesn’t knock into anyone or anything on the way.  During the week, the boys had a strict schedule of who used the bathroom and when and if you missed your time then you were out of luck.  During the weekend the system fell apart and it was every man for himself.

            He was in luck that day.  He didn’t have to wait in line to piss and he got to the showers just in time for Clarence to step out and slap Harry on the back. “It’s all yours, Granger.”

            The shower worked to make him fully alert.  Well, it mostly did.  He plopped down onto the couch in the common room with even less grace than usual.  Amelia narrowed her eyes at him.

            “Are you ever going to learn the Drying Charm for your hair?  You keep making the upholstery wet.” She drew her wand and cast the charm herself.

            “He’ll never learn if you keep doing it for him,” Maureen Abbott pointed out from Amelia’s other side.

            “You know, Hermione always gets onto me for not learning the _Impervius_ or _Oculus Reparo_ Charms,” Harry mused before he could remember himself.

            “Why would you need to know the Eyeglass-Repairing Charm?” Maureen asked.

            Harry mentally smacked himself.  Although he’d finally managed to train himself out of reaching to the bedside table for his glasses each morning, apparently his glasses could still trip him up. “Er, Quidditch goggles,” Harry came up with.

            To his relief, Maureen dropped it and went back to her Divination notes.  Amelia looked at him oddly for a few extra moments, but was interrupted by Ignatius entering through the portrait hole, cursing up a storm.

            “Stupid – fucking – bossy – “

            “Calm yourself, Ignatius.  It’s improper for the Head Boy to be speaking like that,” Maureen scolded.

            Still muttering under his breath, Ignatius made to sit across from the three of them.

            “I can’t believe anyone could be so interfering!” snarled Ignatius.

            “Who?” Harry asked, unable to keep a fond smile off his face as he thought of Hermione.

_“Walburga Black.”_

            Harry’s smile slipped off of his face.

            Amelia sighed patiently. “What did Walburga Black do?”

            Ignatius huffed. “Lucretia and I were having a pleasant stroll through the corridors, talking as the Head Boy and Head Girl are supposed to – “

            “I’m sure,” Maureen teased.

            Ignatius ignored her. “And that horrible banshee of a woman comes striding up to us, _demanding_ that Lucretia accompany her.  Well, Lucretia politely pointed out that she was busy, and you know what she said?  _Do you know what she said?”_

            “We weren’t there, Ignatius,” said Amelia. “But I assume it was something rude and suitably snobbish.”

            “She said, _‘Let the more common element handle the rabble’_.  Can you believe that foul bovine?  As if her family is _any better_ than mine – hell, I’m even a _pure-blood!_ Every bit as pure as _she_ is!”

            Amelia and Maureen both nodded along in sympathy while Harry shook his head.  The Blacks were a bit of an enigma to him, if he was honest.  Lucretia and Alphard seemed nice most of the time (Alphard when he wasn’t panting after Hermione, which he’d taken to doing in earnest after the incident with Rosier). Walburga, on the other hand, made Pansy Parkinson look like a playful puppy and at least once a day the prefects complained about Orion and Cygnus bullying the other third years.

            Harry was forced to reevaluate his opinion of Slytherins as a whole after Hermione was sorted there.  He’d come to the firm conclusion that while not necessarily the source of all evil, Slytherin was still home to its fair share of berks, and people who stood on the line of being a berk.

            That line had not been more clear since Hermione stunned Andrew Rosier in the Slytherin common room.  Harry had heard of this incident not from Hermione, surprisingly, but from Martha Ribstalk, who seemed intent on getting into Harry’s good graces, who had heard it from Daisy Wilbrow from Ravenclaw, who had heard of it from Marcella McKinnon.

            After the fact, Slytherin had split into three factions.  The ones that thought Hermione was in the wrong for Hexing someone “above her station” or some such rot; those who respected Hermione for her ability or just didn’t like Andrew Rosier; and those who didn’t care either way.  The consequence was that Hermione was now usually surrounded by an entourage made up of the middle faction and it had become difficult to get her alone.

            The most disconcerting part of this was that Riddle fell into “Team Hermione” rather than siding with the pure-bloods, as Harry would have suspected, or at least in the neutral party.  But no, now Riddle was a regular fixture in Hermione’s entourage.  And even worse, Hermione seemed to have gotten _used_ to his presence.

            Harry had tried to warn Hermione.

            “I honestly think he only hangs around because of Alphard, Nathan and probably Phaedra,” she’d said dismissively.

            “What if he’s trying to recruit you!”

            Hermione had given him a bland stare.

            “Honestly, Harry.  Tom doesn’t seem to have recruited _anyone_ yet, or even tried to.  He’s no more on good terms with the blood purists than I am at the moment, and Alphard and Nathan hardly act like servants – we know that Alphard never became a Death Eater.”

            “He’s up to something, though,” Harry had told her, then he went on to explain about Riddle walking him to the Gryffindor common room.  Hermione’s eyes had grown progressively wider until the end of the tale, when he told her about Amelia telling him about Riddle not having rounds that night.

            “I suppose it is possible that he did switch with somebody, but I do admit that is suspicious…” Hermione had said.

            “I just wish I knew what he could be up to,” Harry had said.

            Immediately, Hermione’s expression went from worried speculation to one that told him he had definitely said something stupid.

            Harry blinked at her. “What did I say?”

            Hermione had opened her mouth, no doubt to correct whatever error had just come out of his mouth.  Then her mouth snapped close, and she looked at him for a second with an unreadable expression.

            “No, I don’t think so,” she had said. “I think I’ll let you figure this one out for yourself.”

            She clammed up after that.  No matter how hard Harry pried, Hermione refused to even give him a hint.  It was extremely frustrating, because if Riddle was up to something, it could easily spell disaster.  After all, he’d opened the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year –

            Oh.

            “Son of a bitch!” Harry shouted, coming back to his present surroundings.

            Amelia, Maureen and Ignatius, whom Harry had all but forgotten, jumped in their seats.  Ignatius’s continued angry rant cut off abruptly in surprise.

            “Good sentiment, Harry,” Ignatius said. “But you are aware Walburga is female, right?  I mean, I see how you could make the mistake, but -”

            “No, um, sorry.  I was just lost in thought.  I just… remembered something.” He stood up. “I’ve got to go find Hermione.  I’ll see you guys later.”

            They said their goodbyes, looking quite confused, and Harry dashed for the portrait hole.  He barely avoided plowing over a group of third years.

            “Sorry!” Harry said over his shoulder, speed-walking down the steps.

            “Watch where you’re going!” a boy with light brown hair shouted back.

            Harry shrugged and continued on his way, realizing belatedly that he had no idea where he was going.  He wished he’d had the foresight to bring the Marauder’s Map with them – it would have been dead useful right about then.  He never realized how much he depended on the Map and the Cloak until he didn’t have them anymore.  It made him feel naked.

            Pretty soon, he’s stumbling around and thinking _Where do you find a Hermione?  Where do you find a Hermione?_ And then he nearly smacked himself when the answer came to him.

            The library, of course.

            He walked carefully into the library.  Madam Pince – still disturbingly young but no less like a bird of prey – snapped around to glare at him.  Harry shrugged apologetically for daring to, well, breath, he guessed.  Actually, he _was_ breathing pretty heavily.  He hadn’t realized he’d ran there.

            He walked among the tables, growing more and more frustrated when he couldn’t find her.  He wondered along the aisles next, but found no sign of her there, either.  He resigned himself to having to find someone, probably a Slytherin.

            He walked back to the tables and looked around, hoping to find someone from Hermione’s entourage.  He spotted Lucretia and Walburga Black sitting together, deep in tense discussion.  Harry moved on – Lucretia was nice on a good day, but he didn’t want to deal with Walburga unless absolutely necessary.

            He finally spotted Moody, who was studying with a few other seventh years.

            “Hey, Moody,” Harry said.

            Moody looked up at Harry.  He seemed a pit peeved at being interrupted, although it was an improvement over the manic paranoia of the old Moody. “Did you need something, Granger?”

            “Yeah.  Do you know where Hermione is?  I thought she’d be here.”

            “She’s probably at the Quidditch Pitch, although you’d best not go there right about now.  The team won’t take kindly to a Gryffindor skulking about,” Moody warned.

            Harry nodded. “Thanks.”

            “Think nothing of it, Granger,” Moody said.

            Harry left the library, glad to escape Madam Pince’s accusatory stares.  With no other option in sight, he found a corridor with a window that looked over the grounds and resigned himself to waiting until either the Slytherin Team’s practice ended or Hermione got bored and returned on her own.  He felt a jolt of longing; Gryffindor already had a Seeker at the moment, although she was in seventh year and the spot would be open next year.  None of it would matter, anyway, unless he could get ahold of a broom, and Harry wasn’t sure Hermione would be okay with them using the money they got selling objects from the Room to get him a broomstick.

            He wished he’d brought a book or something to entertain himself.  He’s almost prepared to go back to the common room when he finally spotted a group of Slytherins returning from the Quidditch Pitch.  Even without her signature bushy mane, Harry could still recognize Hermione.

            He could recognize Riddle as well.

            Steeling himself to be in the same presence as Riddle – which he had happily avoided since their original meeting – Harry made his way down to the Entrance Hall to meet them.

            Harry positioned himself in the Entrance Hall.  Alphard was again chatting up Hermione, who was nodding politely.  Riddle was talking with Nathan Cato, with Cato doing most of the talking and Riddle wearing his typical expression of polite apathy.

            Lorelei, who seemed to have developed a sixth sense for detecting Harry, spotted him first.  She paused from her conversation (argument) with Phaedra and reached over to get Hermione’s attention.  Some indicator must have shown on Harry’s face, because Hermione’s face became extraordinarily smug when they made eye contact.

            Harry shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of all five Slytherins.  As usual, Riddle’s gaze had the ability to make Harry’s hackles raise and his skin prickle.

            He steeled himself when they all came over.  Alphard, who looked too similar for Sirius for Harry to really be comfortable around him, was looking at him with a look that Harry associated with rival Quidditch captains shaking hands before a match.  Lorelei was looking at him like she might try to eat him.  Phaedra and Cato were the least intimidating – only mildly curious.

            Harry didn’t allow himself to look at Riddle.

            “Hello, Harry,” said Hermione. “So, did you figure out that problem we discussed before?” she asked sweetly.

            “Yes, I did,” Harry reddened. “I’m not completely hopeless,” he grumbled.

            “I never said you were,” she responded in a tone that implied it heavily.

            “Ooh, secret twin-speak!” Alphard said. “Care to let the rest of us peasants in on it?”

            If Alphard thought what he and Hermione were doing constituted “secret twin-speak”, Harry thought, he should have tried being around Fred and George.

            “It’s nothing of importance,” Hermione evaded smoothly.

            “We were just on our way to the library,” Phaedra added. “Would you like to join us, Harry?”

            “Oh, er,” Harry did want to speak to Hermione, but not while surrounded by other people.  Also, it was getting increasingly harder to ignore Riddle, even though he hadn’t spoken.  In fact, Riddle seemed fairly disinterested if nothing else.

            “I’d better not,” Harry said apologetically. “I promised I’d… do homework with Rich and Balthazar today.” He fought not to let the lie show on his face.  He was sure that Balthazar, at least, had already finished his homework for the weekend.

            “Well why don’t you go fetch them and join us?” Nathan offered. “The more, the merrier, as they say.”

            Harry looked to Hermione for help.  She only raised her eyebrows as if to say _“You got yourself into this web, you can get yourself out.”_ Harry hoped that the cursed look he gave her was subtle.

            “I’ll go ask them, then,” Harry said.  He began to back away.

            “Alright then. I suppose we’ll probably see you in a few minutes,” Phaedra said.

            “Yeah.  Alright then.”

            Harry walked quickly away.  He kept himself composed to the best of his ability until he’d gone up the marble steps and turned the corner so he was properly out of sight of the Slytherins.  That done, he began to properly berate himself.

            “Nice going, Pot- _Granger,_ ” he corrected himself.  He looked around himself to make sure nobody had heard him before he continued.

            “You couldn’t just put up with Riddle and make an excuse later.  No, you have to go and make a fool of yourself – and in front of Slytherins,” he sniped.

            “What’s wrong with Slytherins?”

            Harry jumped a foot in the air with a loud help.  He whirled around, hand grasping his chest over his heart.

            “What the - ! Oh, er, Harmonia.  What are you doing here?” Harry asked dumbly.

            Harry had almost forgotten about Harmonia Ollivander.  She looked quite different in student robes.  Her hair was up in a bun, with her wand stuck through it.  She didn’t look very affected by his reaction, only smiling at him with some amusement.

            “I go to school here,” she replied.  She continued, “I do suppose some Slytherins can be rather cruel, your sister being a clear exception, of course.” A dent formed in between her brow. “Of course, I did hear she dealt with Andrew Rosier rather violently.   Then again, knowing him, he likely provoked her.  Anyway, you want to tell me why you dislike Tom?”

            “You heard that?” Harry winced.

            “Yes – don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” She stepped forward and reached her hand to grasp the crook of Harry’s elbow. “He has always been rather polite, although I have the feeling he hides a lot of himself from others.”

            “I get that feeling to,” Harry admitted.  He didn’t know what to do but allow Harmonia to lead him through the hall.

            Harmonia hummed noncommittally. “He is a rather uninteresting individual, on the surface, at least.  I do remember that, as a first year, he did experience some bullying from the more prejudiced members of his House.” She frowned slightly. “He’s a muggle-born, you see.  Or at least he has no living magical family.  Raised in an orphanage, poor thing.

            “The bullying did stop, though, rather suddenly after his first year.  Some supposed that Professor Slughorn had a talk with the other Slytherins, but I’m not so sure.”

            Harry highly doubted that Professor Slughorn said anything.

            “He was a rather dour one back then.  But his attitude improved, or became what it is now.”

            “So he suddenly became top student over night?” Harry asked skeptically.

            Harmonia smiled, “He always had the best grades in his year.  He only wasn’t as polite to the students.  It’s hard to be ridiculed and then greet your tormentor with a smile, so I can hardly hold that against him.  This doesn’t quite answer my previous question, though, of why you don’t like him.” She gave him a fairly significant look. “Or is it that you like him too much?”

            “What?” Harry said, not catching on at first. “Oh!  No, not at all.  Nothing like that,” Harry said quickly, reddening.

            “There’s nothing wrong with it,” Harmonia said soothingly. “I’ve heard muggles can be conservative about such things.  But, the magical world is basically a world made of outcasts, so we tend to be more accepting.”

            “Except for blood status,” Harry pointed out.

            Harmonia nodded, “Yes.  Well, no one intelligent has ever accused humanity of being perfect.  But again, off topic.  I believe I was asking about your ‘problem’ with Tom.”  When Harry hesitated, she said, “You can tell me to mind my own business, if you want.”

            “You seemed pretty insistent on me answering the question,” Harry said.

            “Yes, and ‘mind your own business’ is an answer.”

            “Yes, er, well then I’d rather not talking about it.”

            “Fair enough,” Harmonia said, and then they stopped. “We’re here, anyway.”

            Harry had not realized Harmonia was leading him anywhere in particular.  Consequently, he hadn’t been paying attention to his surroundings.  They were in the basement, in front of the portrait that hid the entrance to the kitchens.

            Harmonia reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s arm and delicately brushed her fingers against the pear.

            There was already someone inside.  A tall, very thin boy with shoulder-length curly light brown hair.  He was pouring over what looked like a large amount of homework but looked up when they entered.  He didn’t seem at all perturbed by seeing Harry, as if he was expecting him.

            “Harry, this is Cory Lovegood.  He’s Professor Lovegood’s nephew.  Cory, this is Harry Granger,” said Harmonia.

            “Ah, yes.  The new student.” He offered his hand for Harry to shake. “And it’s Lycoreus.  The only one who calls me that is Harmonia and that’s only because she refuses to stop.”

            “Everyone calls him Cory,” Harmonia stage-whispered to Harry.

            Lycoreus either didn’t hear her or chose to ignore her because he did not respond and instead went back to pouring over what Harry recognizes as Arithmancy charts.

            “Sit down, Harry,” Harmonia urged. “I need someone to practice my Divination on.  Cory is so bad at it – he doesn’t hardly pay any attention.” She turned to talk to a house-elf, leaving Harry to awkwardly sit down.

            “Forgive me if, having the Divination professor as a relative, I am rather bored with the subject,” Lycoreus drawled without looking up.

            A cup of tea is placed abruptly in front of Harry.  Harmonia sat beside Lycoreus and shoved some of his charts aside, earning a glare, and she replaced them with her own parchment and books.  Once she had all of her supplies out, she folded her fingers together and stared patiently at Harry.  He quickly realized what he was meant to be doing and began to drink the tea.  It was quite awkward, because Lycoreus didn’t seem inclined to talk and Harmonia was apparently content to stare at him and wait for him to finish.  Harry finished his tea quickly, mildly scalding his mouth and throat in the process, and quickly poured the dregs onto the plate and pushed it to Harmonia.

            “Thank you, Harry,” Harmonia said politely, pulling the plate gently toward her. “You should ask the house-elves for lunch.”

            Harry did.  He expected a similar experience to his first encounter with Professor Lovegood, or perhaps even Trelawney.  Harmonia did not seemed inclined to talk, though.  She only examined the dregs and occasionally took notes on her parchment.  Harry ate, using the food to distract him from the silence.  He threw an occasional nervous glance at Lycoreus.  After how quickly the professor had divined Harry’s secrets, he was nervous that Lycoreus could share some of his uncle’s power.  And wouldn’t that be a trick, if Harry’s luck managed to get him exposed to another person?  The small comfort he got was the Arithmancy and Lycoreus’s dismissal of Divination.  It reminded him comfortingly of Hermione.

            “What is your birth date, Harry?” Harmonia asked after a while.

            “Nineteenth of September, 1925.”

            Harmonia looked down but Lycoreus’s head jerked upward.  He gave Harry this bemused expression, as if Harry had just said that the sky was green or Quidditch was played on pink hippogriffs.  Harry met his stare, eyes wide and unwilling to look away, realizing that me may have misconstrued Lycoreus’s dismissal of Divination.

            The staring contest lasted for several seconds before Lycoreus abruptly looked back down at his Arithmancy and continued as if nothing had happened.  Harry stared at the top of his head for a few seconds before he returned to his food.  No longer hungry, he pushed it around half-heartedly.  Every once in a while he fidgeted.  The awkwardness of the situation had doubled and he was sitting there with nothing to do.  He wished he had thought to bring his homework with him, at the very least.

            He jumped when a book was pushed in front of him.  It was a N.E.W.T.-level Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook.  Harry looked up, but Lycoreus was already refocused on his own work.

            “Uh, thanks,” Harry said awkwardly, to no response.  He opened the book to a random page.

_THE ORIGINS OF PARSELTONGUE_

            Harry looked upward with his best _What the actual fuck?_ look.  When he received no response, he went back to staring at the heading.  He considered turning to a different page, just to be spiteful, but realized he was curious and settled down to read.

_Parseltongue, the language of snakes, has been reported worldwide since the middle ages.  The most well-known possessor of the talent native to the British Isles being Salazar Slytherin.  Before then, during antiquity, it was only prominent in regions of Southern Europe and Asia.  Some believe that, like the Metamorphmagus and the some natural Legilimens, Parselmouths are random mutations of magic in certain individuals.  There is, however, a residual theory that Parseltongue may have more beastly origins._

            _In Southern Europe, especially Greece, there are races of half-women, half-serpentine creatures known as the Gorgons.  Gorgons are divided into two species – the Medusa and the Lamia.  Both are shapeshifters, dissimilar from werewolves in that rather than only transforming during the full moon they transform purely at will._

_The difference between these two beings lies in their bestial forms.  The Lamia retains the torso of a human woman, similar to the Siren, save for sharp, talon-like nails and canine teeth repurposed as venomous fangs.  The Medusa is even more nefarious, with her entire body becoming scaled and her hair turning into a bed of venomous snakes.  Most infamously, her eyes gain the ability to turn anyone who looks into them into stone._

_In Southern Asia exists the Nāga, which like the Gorgons are part-human and part-snake.  Unlike the Gorgons, Nāga are not shape shifters and live out their entire lives in-between human and serpent.  Also unlike the gorgons they have both males and females among them.  They live secluded within jungles and ancient cities, and rarely make contact with mankind._

_The commonality between Gorgons and Nāgas, beyond having human and serpentine characteristics, is that they both have the ability to speak Parseltongue, as well as human language.  This has led to the theory that human Parselmouths are created or descended from unions between humans and these beings.  This is also supported by the earliest records of Parselmouths being in the same regions as these beings, such as the legendary Dark Wizard Herpo the Foul of Greece and the Healer Ashirvad from Shillong._

_However, there are some inconsistencies in the theory.  Male Gorgons are not known to exist and the females reproduce asexually.  There are legends of Lamias breeding with human men from antiquity, but these cannot be verified and all children of such unions are described as inhuman monsters.  In all modern reports, Gorgons view men as prey, rather than as potential mates._

_Nāgas rarely interact and there are no verified instances of a child born between a human and a Nāga.  There are also doubts to be cast on the physical compatibility between humans and Nāgas, as the latter are known to be oviparous.  This indicates –_

Harry hurriedly turned to a different chapter, unwilling to read more.  He tried to flip through the rest of the book, but despite Defence typically being Harry’s best subject he couldn’t stop the words from blurring together.  He kept on imagining slit-like nostrils, long, sharp fingernails like claws and slitted pupils…

            “Done!”

            Harry blinked as he came back to his present surroundings.  Harmonia was rolling up her parchment.  As if taking his cue from her, Lycoreus began to pack as well.

            “Oh, and I forgot to ask, Harry, but is it okay if I use you for my Divination project?  As a final project we’re supposed to pick a subject and apply what we’ve learned from class on divining their future.  I promise that only Professor Lovegood will see it, and I’ll probably use a fake name.  I may have to ask you a few follow-up questions during the year but that’s pretty much it.  I would use Cory, but I’ve predicted his future so much that it’s pretty boring,” she said.

            “Um, alright,” Harry said, regretting it immediately.

            Harmonia beamed at him.  Harry thought that if this blew up in his face, he’d have no one to blame but himself.

            “I realize that this was unplanned,” Harmonia continued in an odd voice. “I hope I didn’t distract you from any prior commitments.  That would have been so _unfortunate_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back! I know it has been a while but I've been dealing with finals (except for the last week and two days) and I've been stuck on this chapter. To add perspective, "Creature Inheritance" is one of my top 5 least-favorite HP tropes, right below "Harry is the heir of fucking everything and has every special magical ability known to wizardkind". No shade if that's your thing, it's just not my cup of tea. Don't expect it to be a huge plot point.
> 
> So on with today's post-chapter ramble:
> 
> I am sorry Tom hasn't been given much to do. I'll just remind you that I'm playing the long game here and do you know how hard it is to make a boy want to be around the younger version of someone who killed his parents? In related news I now know when and how they will end up together, so there's that. Maybe I will give Tom a POV.
> 
> Now onto the advertisement portion:
> 
> In my last ramble I mentioned that I was thinking of turning this into a series of my interpretations of common HP tropes (the ones I like anyway). All response was positive so I'm happy to announce that I am currently working on the third chapter of "Secret Heart", which will be the next installment of "New and Familiar Places". I'm trying this new thing called writing ahead, so I'll probably post the first chapter some time before January 16th. I will do both projects simultaneously because I hate myself. I also have laid the concept for the third installment which I will be working on and an HP next generation fic tentatively titled "I"ll Be On My Way Soon" which won't be a part of this series but I thought I'd mention it anyway. If you're interested you can keep a look out.
> 
> Again: I hate myself.
> 
> Just in case it wasn't clear or you didn't read all of the above paragraph, "Secret Heart" and "Tempora Fugi" will be set in different universes and will not be a continuous story. It is not required for you to read both. The only thing they'll have in common is being in the same series.
> 
> Thank you everyone who has stayed on this long.


	8. Harry Would Like You to Know About his Existential Crisis

_“While there are many areas in Divination, they can mostly be compartmentalized into two main categories – Divining and Prophecy,” said Professor Lovegood. “All of Divination is rather esoteric by nature, but I suppose you could say a Prophecy is more straightforward.  Prophecies are delivered unconsciously, by a special category of seer known as an Oracle, who ironically usually have no memory of what they’ve even said,” he said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “To add to the confusion, the prophecies told are often cryptic and hard to interpret, rarely manifesting as expected.”_

_Harry quickly scribbled on his parchment, trying to keep up.  A major downside to the comfortable armchairs was that it had everybody feeling particularly relaxed and also a bit sleepy.  Richard, beside Harry, had drooping eyelids and appeared to only be getting down every third or fourth sentence.  Maureen and Mary Ellen Huggett, a sweet freckled-faced girl with red hair in a chignon, who they were sharing the table with, were taking diligent notes.  Harry was reminded of Parvati and Lavender and their nearly slavish devotion to Trelawney._

_“However, it is important to remember that, while certainly announcing the very likely or even most likely scenario, prophecies are not set in stone.  I daresay there are hundreds of prophecies that have never come to pass and many that never will.”_

            Harry stared out the window at the grounds, perched on the ledge.  Winter would arrive eventually and the ground would freeze and turn white with snow.  It was comforting, how intrinsically the same this Hogwarts looked to the Hogwarts in the future.

            Harry found himself more and more restless as the days went on, feeling as if he should be doing _something_.

            He took to wondering the corridors on his own a lot.  Occasionally Harmonia joined him, and rarely Cory.  There was something innately comforting about both of their presences, and Harry was beginning to suspect why.   They both made for very understanding and noninvasive company.

            The Gryffindors seemed content to leave him to it, and it was probably for the best, as Harry found their presences overwhelming at times.  Maureen and the Prewetts were far too much like the Weasleys for Harry’s comfort.  Amelia Bones was easier, as he hadn’t known her well in his present time, but she was also too observant.  Harry felt like she noticed every tick and wrong word he said, and despite common sense saying Amelia would be unlikely to ever jump to the right conclusion, his paranoia persevered.

            Then there was the Hermione.  Harry realized that being in different Houses now meant less time spent together, but then there was the exacerbating factor of Hermione’s entourage of Slytherins.  He’d used his excuses for missing the proposed “Study session” that Harmonia had provided.  The automatic instinct to distrust any member of Slytherin House was deeply instilled in Harry, and he found it harder to shed his prejudices as easily as Hermione seemed to be able.  Then there was the one Slytherin that Harry knew he was right to be wary of that was now always hovering over Hermione’s shoulder.

            That’s what Harry should be doing.  Stopping Riddle.  It was his destiny, supposedly.  But stop him from doing what, exactly?  Dumbledore already had the Chamber of Secrets handled, but Harry still glanced at the girl’s bathroom where the entrance was hidden each time he passed.  But short of going down and preemptively killing the basilisk (which he couldn’t do anyway, since with the loss of his Parseltongue he would be unable to access the Chamber) there was nothing to do.  It was the same thing that had put Harry through sleepless nights and fits of anger at this point in his own time, but now it was almost worse, because there is really nothing for him to _fight against_.  There was Grindelwald, sure, but that wasn’t Harry’s fight and he knew it.

            It turned out there was a vast difference between feeling powerless and feeling useless.

            “Are you well, Harry?”

            Harry jumped, nearly causing himself to nearly topple off of the window ledge.  He managed to catch himself, however, and turned to glare at the offender.

            Of course it was Riddle.

            “What do you want?” Harry snapped, perhaps harsher than he should have.

            Riddle’s eyebrows twitched slightly. “I was merely curious.  You seemed rather deep in thought.  If you have a problem, I would be happy to provide an ear.”

            _I bet you would_. “It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he said, thankfully less aggressive this time.

            “This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your sister, would it?” Tom guessed.

            Harry forced himself not to glare.

            Riddle smiled artificially. “I assure you that your sister is quite safe.  A fairly large portion of Slytherin House have taken to the roles of protectors quite… zealously.” He chuckled lightly, and Harry wondered how anyone could believe it was genuine.

            “Hermione can take care of herself.”

            Tom’s eyebrows ticked up. “I did hear she dispatched Rosier quite ably.  She must be quite skilled, though, if you believe she can hold her own against the entire contingent of Slytherin that is intent on punishing her for daring to defy someone above her station.  Maybe I should tell the others to let her ‘take care of herself’,” he said mockingly.

            Harry was floored for a moment.  Although that outburst was about equal to a typical sarcastic remark from Harry, that was the most real emotion he’d ever seen Riddle show.

            “I never knew you could be that cruel, Tom,” Harry said, only partially succeeding in holding back the truly unholy amount of sarcasm that wanted to lace those words.

            Tom looked to be surprised at himself as well, but recovered quickly. “I truly do apologize, Harry,” he rebounded smoothly. “But it is impolite for you to discount the efforts of Hermione’s other friends.” There was a treacly quality to his voice that Harry was unable to understand the meaning behind. Then he got it when Riddle continued, “Even if it does mean she’s spending less time with you.”

            Harry allowed himself to glare, because he like that would be a perfectly reasonable response to such an invasive and pointed statement.  Yes, he missed Hermione, and could even admit that he felt left by the wayside while she was gallivanting off with her Slytherin friends.  But that’s only half his problem and partially his fault because he knows logically he’d be welcome to spend time with the Slytherins.  Except he’d probably make a complete berk or nutter out of himself, because the other half of his problem was a constant presence invented by Fate to drive him insane.

            It drove Harry insane that Riddle held so much power over him, that he was even able to bother Harry by _not_ being a bother to Harry.

            Before Harry could respond, however, Riddle was stepping away.

            “I will see you later, Harry,” he said ( _promised_ ) as he all but glided away down the halls.

            And as was becoming a pattern during his encounters with Riddle, a pit in Harry’s stomach grew, accommodating feelings both known and foreign.

~0oo0~

            “Hello, Harry.”

            Harry whirled around to see Hermione, smiling at him with an odd expression on her face.  There was a bag dangling at her side.

            “It’s been a while since we’ve had a picnic in the Room,” she said, and there was a trace of guilt in her voice. “So I thought it was a little overdue.”

            Harry blinked and then grinned. “Finally manage to shake off your fan club, eh?” he teased her lightly, to show there were no hard feelings. “What exactly did you have to do to escape Alphard?”

            Hermione blushed but smiled back. “They’re hardly a fan club, Harry,” she said. “Now let’s go.  It’s been too long since we’ve had time to really discuss things.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            Once the door to the Room closed behind them, Hermione’s shoulders slumped as if a weight had been lifted off of her.  Maybe it was wrong of him, but it made Harry feel better to know that he wasn’t the only one struggling.  Even if Hermione was better at hiding it than he was.

            “So,” Hermione said, laying her bag on the ground and placing pastries on the ground, “a little bird told me that you have been acting a little bit listless lately.  Care to share?”

            Harry wanted to ask who this Little Bird was, but he was too relieved to be able to talk openly again to care. “I feel useless, Hermione.  Ever since first year I’ve had a goal, something to be set on – “

            “That was usually a risk to your life that you shouldn’t have had to be involved in in the first place,” Hermione said, a little snappish.

            “I’m supposed to stop Voldemort, Hermione!” Harry burst out. “But I can’t do anything because _he_ hasn’t done anything and it’s driving me mad!”

            Hermione stared at him, piercingly and not a little sadly. “I know, Harry,” she said. “Life has been so unfair to you.  I’m not a therapist, but the best thing I think you can do is embrace the second chance you’ve been given.  There’s no Dark Lord for you to fight.  See this as a chance to rest, Harry.  Not to feel useless.”

            Her words bounced around Harry’s head, hitting against walls of stubbornness.  Maybe at some point he could allow them through, but Harry needed time to process.

            “So what about you?  Any existential crises you need to get off your chest?”

            Hermione shrugged. “Not so much an existential crisis, but there has been a question that I’ve found myself pondering over.”

            “Well?”

            “What is going to happen on the nineteenth of September, 1979?  And on the thirty-first of July, 1980?

            Harry blinked. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

            “What is going to happen when we are supposed to be _born_ , Harry,” Hermione explained.

            “Oh,” Harry said. “I’m… not exactly sure.” An idea flew through his head, of copies of himself and Hermione boarding the Hogwarts express in 1991.  At least one of them without the same experiences as his counterpart.  He mentioned the idea to Hermione.

            “Maybe,” Hermione said, although she seemed dubious. “I have a few other theories.”

            “Like what?”

            “The circumstances that led to our births never coming to pass,” Hermione said. “My parents are already alive now, did you know?  They decided to have children very late in life, and it took three years of trying for me to be conceived.” Hermione’s voice seemed to crack on the last sentence. “What if this time they _don’t_ succeed?”

            “Oh,” Harry said. “My parents had me when they were very young,” he remembered, “only twenty years old.  I guess it’s safe to say I wasn’t a… planned child.”

            Assuming Harry succeeded in preventing the rise of Lord Voldemort (and he _would_ succeed) the circumstances his parents grew up in would be completely different.  Forget not having him, they may never even get married.  The thought made Harry’s chest burn.

            _At least they will still be alive_ , a voice in his head reminded him.

            “Well, enough of this morbid talk,” Hermione said, shutting down the conversation. “Our food is getting cold.” She laid her hand on Harry’s. “I’m sure everything will work out in the end.”

            Like her early words, these bounced against the walls of Harry’s mind.  And even though his mind tried its very best to cling to them, they bounced off into the abyss.

            _On the first of September, 1991, families gathered at the Platform 9 ¾ at Kings Cross.  A round faced woman fussed over the collar of her son’s robes while the father watched on in fond amusement.  A trio of blondes stood together, the mother smoothing her son’s hair into place while the father looked on with dignified pride.  A mother tried to clean a smudge off of the nose of her youngest son while her daughter tugged on her skirt._

_Some faces, in another world, would have never been there.  In another world, there would have been fewer first years and fewer parents hugging their children goodbye._

_In another world there would have been a skinny boy with messy black hair and glasses held together by tape, baggy clothes hanging off of his thin frame, and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead.  There would have been a girl with thick bushy hair and large buck teeth and intelligent brown eyes._

_But this wasn’t another world.  And they weren’t there now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I would like to apologize for making you wait seven months for a chapter that is half the usual length. Usually I like my chapters to be between 4 to 5k at minimum but this time I just couldn't stretch it out. Hopefully brevity really is the soul of wit. But seriously, thank you guys who have all waited so patiently. I'm just having a really hard time finding my inspiration but I downright refuse to give up or abandon this story. I will say that the plot will pick up after the Christmas holidays (and hopefully I manage to write it by next Christmas).
> 
> Now on to a few other things.
> 
> Last update I mentioned a project called "Secret Heart" I was writing and an HP next gen fic called "I"ll Be On My Way Soon". Well that was seven months ago. For now "Secret Heart" is now "Untitled" because I changed basically the whole plot. And went from working on the third chapter to back on the first. I'm not going to post it until I've either finished it or at least half of it. As for "I'll Be On My Way Soon" it is also now "Untitled" and will also now only exist on my laptop until I am at least half finished. Basically I am very tired of having a lot of WIPs and want to have more finished products.
> 
> As always, thank you for your patience and for reading.


	9. The Author Would Like You to Know That He is Sorry

Don’t you just hate when it’s _this_ type of update?

Okay first of all I feel as if I need to apologize, mostly to myself.

I didn’t go into this story with any plan in mind.  I basically made up the ending after I started.  Now I know where I want to end up and have no idea how to get there.  Just looking at this story in my files has been giving me guilt and anxiety, and that is no headspace for me to be in.

That’s why I will be putting _Tempora Fugi_ on official (as opposed to unofficial where I just don’t post) hiatus until further notice.  I’m shelving it so I can take a step back and, hopefully, return with a plan in mind of what path this story is going to take.

I feel like this is a lesson for me.  You see, I do this thing where I write the first few chapters of a plot that pops into my head and get really excited and post it without actually having it planned out.  I get kudos, comments, and bookmarks.  People say nice things and it’s extremely gratifying.

And then I feel pressured to turn out another chapter and then another until it becomes a chore rather than an enjoyable hobby.  I should say now that it’s nobody’s fault – everybody who has shown any investment in this story and all my other WIPs has been extraordinarily patient.  The pressure I feel is something that my brain is imposing on itself.

So, for now I am taking a break from all of my WIPs, first to work on some new stories I’ve been working on which I intend to either complete or get far into before I begin to post them.  Then hopefully I’ll be able to come back to all my current WIPs and do them the justice I can’t do now.

Thank you for your support.

Signed,

Freddie (AKA Odd_ysseus)


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